Second Sight
by RavensRequiem
Summary: -AU- From the day he met Shaun Hastings, Desmond had a sneaking suspicion about the man. And, when he decides to confirm or deny his suspicions, he finds that there's more to Shaun than a knack for discreet history and a tongue sharper than steel.
1. It's Just a Trick of the Light

**Second Sight  


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_Disclaimer: I don't claim possession over any and all characters contained herein. I just decided to have fun with them._

_Notes: Amidst drafting one-shots and getting ready for college, this plot bunny flew at me from nowhere after I noticed something rather peculiar about Desmond and Shaun. I don't know how long this will be, but I intend to have fun with it. Also, note that this is AU with some intersections back into the game's cannon.  
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_Warnings: Eventual Shaun/Desmond, Implied Ezio/Leonardo, and CLEAR AS FRIGGIN' DAY Altaϊr/Malik  


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12:00

A loud, almost obnoxious yawn sounded through the room and Shaun leaned back in his chair, stretching out sore muscles and wincing when his whole body protested the prolonged inactivity. When he felt a little more invigorated, a little less apt to fall asleep over his keyboard, he snapped back upright in his chair and turned back to the almost ancient tome he had been pouring through for hours. But, his eyes wandered back to the clock at the bottom of his computer screen, taunting him with the little AM notation that sat after the time, and he sighed.

Lucy, Rebecca, and Desmond had long since turned in for the night, though Desmond had stuck around longer than the girls, almost clear into the eleven hour before he'd turned in. At first, Shaun had detested the company of the team's laziest member and braced himself for either taunting from Subject 17 or some vigorous round of questions that would distract him from his work. It had been Shaun's surprise when Desmond inquired as to what he was doing and, once filled in, offered to help if he could. Shaun had been absolutely floored that the high and mighty couch potato (as Shaun secretly called him) had decided to do something productive.

Shaun had almost turned the offer down despite his surprise, but once he'd looked at the work he had yet to do, he had gladly shoved tomes and parchments and scrolls at Desmond and told him to have fun. The historian had then returned to his own work, prepared to hear some form of grousing from Desmond (mostly waited for him to complain about not knowing the language the texts were written in) and was again surprised when he looked over an hour later and found the Assassin's descendant quietly tucked into his notes on the texts from a spot he had taken on the floor.

At that moment, Shaun was certain that he would have had a heart attack if he were older.

Subject 17 was not only being productive, but he could read Italian?

When asked, Desmond had just smirked up at Shaun and then continued his translation work in silence, moving only to grab a soda and his iPod when it got too quiet. Then, a little after eleven, he called it quits and handed back a pile of work that would have taken Shaun at least a day to complete if he was left alone.

Now, Shaun was sure he was ready to call it quits himself, his eyes so dry they felt like they were glued open and his thoughts foggy and somewhat disjointed. "It can wait 'til morning," he muttered to himself as he got up and stretched out again, yawning even more obnoxiously than before. If he was lucky, he could finish his last round of work in the morning and actually have a day off. He held no hopes and actually laughed at his uncanny optimism as he headed towards the warehouse, which led to all other places in the stronghold.

"You still up, Hastings?"

Shaun swore loudly and almost eloquently at the unexpected shout, casting about futilely for the source of the voice with a hand clutched to his chest.

"Up here!"

Still halfway petrified, Shaun looked up and squinted behind his glasses when he saw a slight aura around a very well hidden Desmond, blinking and rubbing at his eyes to figure out why there appeared to be blue-white around the Assassin's descendant. "What in the name of God are you doing up there, Miles?"

Desmond could have been grinning, but he was too far up to be seen clearly, practically able to touch the ceiling from the rafters. "I couldn't sleep. I thought you'd fallen asleep at your computer again."

Shaun broke eye contact and moved back so that his neck wasn't craned at such an awkward angle; he saw a stack of crates in opportune spot and decided to sit. When he looked up at Desmond again, he found the source of the aura was probably the industrial-grade light the man was perched before. "I don't have that much work left, so I decided to turn in for the night."

Desmond's laugh echoed over the radio he'd hooked his iPod into and he performed the same amazing acrobatics as his ancestors to get to a lower perch. "Does that mean that I actually did something productive?"

Shaun didn't dare indulge Desmond in another battle of wits and ignored his question. "Do you think it's safe to be screaming around the warehouse like an ape without a spotter?"

"Is that concern I hear?"

Oh, Desmond was raring for a fight, wasn't he? Shaun sighed and slipped his glasses up into his hair to pinch his nose, feeling far too familiar irritation with the younger man's chiding. "If something were to happen to you, I would be loathe to hear Lucy screaming over it for the next month."

Desmond scoffed and dropped from the beam to hang from it by the power of his legs alone, sweatshirt riding up and hood hanging behind his head. "I'm what number in a family line of Assassins? I think that I can handle a few beams."

"Your pride is going to get you killed, Miles."

Desmond just kept grinning like a damned hyena and dropped from the beam to land on another with perfect balance, appearing almost graceful in his antics – very much like an Assassin. "I'm descended from some of the best acrobats in history. Don't worry about me."

"I'm only concerned about the sanctity of my workplace being violated because you went and hit your head after a ten story fall," Shaun muttered under his breath. "Really, you are far too confident in your abilities."

Desmond continued his dizzying path towards the ground, finally landing in front of Shaun with a grin and barely a sound from his sneakers. "Why don't you get some sleep? You look like shit."

"Could it be because I actually work?" Shaun shot back testily. He _had_ been grateful to Desmond for his help earlier and had tolerated his presence, but he could do no more than that with the simpering bastard acting like a child _and_ an arrogant prick at the same time. He just couldn't tolerate _Desmond_ all together.

Desmond crossed his arms, an eyebrow arched critically. "You think what I'm doing is easy, Hastings?"

"Yes, because napping all day can be quite strenuous."

"No matter how many times I say that it's hell being in the Animus, you'd never believe me, would you?"

"I have no evidence of it being as tasking as you claim, so no."

Desmond scoffed and waved Shaun off. "If you had the balls, you'd get in that damned thing and see for yourself just what the noise is about."

Shaun smirked and calmly replied, "I have no need to," as Desmond ran for a wall to get back up into the rafters.

Once Desmond was back to where he had been, he called down, "You might be surprised one day, Hastings."

Shaun rolled his eyes and got up, physically tired and now tired of Desmond's antagonistic bullshit. "Good evening to you, Miles."

"_Kool khara,_ Hastings."

* * *

_Quiet and darkness, as far as the eye could see. Compared to the daytime hours, it was cold and he burrowed further into his overcoat, chilly but unwilling to move from his perch until someone pulled him down or he found the one he was looking for. He knew it was foolish, that he could wind up sitting there like a flightless bird for another handful of days, but at the moment, he didn't care. He had said he would be there and damnit if he wasn't going to be there!_

"_What are you doing?"_

_He rolled his eyes and sighed, turning slightly to leer at the one who had clamored up behind him. "Waiting. What are you doing up still?"_

"_I heard you leave and couldn't sleep. Are you waiting for him to return?"_

"_Why ask questions that you already know the answers to?"_

"…_Because it irritates you and someone has to fill his spot until he returns, right?"_

_He laughed and patted the ground next to him. "If you can't sleep, sit and keep me company." He moved over to let the other sit and craned his neck back to stare at the cloudless sky. "The stars are brighter than usual tonight, aren't they?"_

"_Yes, they are. Do you… do you come up here to look at the stars with him?"_

_He felt his breath catch in his throat and he floundered for a fatal amount of time, all hopes of lying evaporating. "H-How do you know?"_

"_I'm young, but I'm not naϊve. I can hear you sneak out at night or I hear him sneak in."_

"_You cannot tell a soul, you hear me? It would be the death of us both!"_

"_Your secret is safe with me, I swear it. I just find it funny that you acted as though I just shoved you in a well."_

"_That isn't information to flaunt lightly!"_

"_And now you're angry. Very funny, indeed."_

"HEY SHAUN!"

Shaun yelped as he darted into a sitting position, his arms immediately swinging out to catch whoever had come up on him with a hook. When his fists were caught in an awkward cross, he looked over and growled irritably when he found his least favorite team mate holding his wrists with a shit-eating grin. "Let me go, Miles," he snarled, disregarding the same blue-white aura he had seen the night before as light from the window behind Desmond.

"Time to wake up, princess," Desmond shot back as he let Shaun go.

Shaun grabbed his glasses off of his nightstand and shoved them on his face, the aura around Shaun still irritating because he knew if the man moved, he'd get the full force of the sun in the face. "Who thought it would be funny to send you in here after me, hmm?"

"Me," Desmond replied wryly. "Now, up! It's already noon."

"NOON?!" Shaun shrieked. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?!"

Desmond's acquired reflexes had him catching Shaun and sitting him back down before the historian could get his feet flat on the floor. "Hey, calm down! Becca hit a snag with the Animus and Lucy doesn't want me near it, so we're down for the day."

"But I have work to do, important work that is not hinged on the function of a lounge chair!" Shaun sneered. "Let me go and get the hell out of here! I have to get ready!"

"Calm down, the work's done."

That stopped Shaun dead in his tracks. "It's what?"

Desmond looked a little more self-aware and Shaun could have sworn he saw a light blush across the younger man's cheeks. "I… was bored and decided to finish up your work after you left last night. It's all on your desk if you don't believe me."

Shaun continued to gape at Desmond. "You finished it all?"

"…Yeah? I thought you'd be pissed at me for touching your shit, but I figured that I had nothin' better to do…"

"How could you have done that? Some of the texts I was going through were hard even for _me_ to decipher and I have a Bachelor's Degree in Linguistics."

Desmond's grin returned in full force. "Do I make this simple or complicated?" he pondered aloud.

"Oh, please, make it complicated so I have a reason to strangle the life out of you," Shaun muttered.

Desmond crossed his arms and made a big show of thinking before he replied, "I didn't just learn combat from Ezio and Altaϊr. From my time in the Animuses, I've mastered Italian and Arabic, spoken and written. Won't do me much good, but it makes the work a shitload easier."

"But some of the older texts were… they were ancient languages," Shaun replied. "I doubt the scholars of old could translate those texts, otherwise I wouldn't have needed to do it."

Desmond realized he'd have to give Shaun a mildly more complicated explanation and went over to the window, keeping his back turned. "Get ready and I'll explain while you do. …I won't peak, I swear."

"Like hell you won't," Shaun shot back. "I do not like that scientific lounge chair Lucy and Rebecca swear by, but I've damn well seen some of the sequences you've gone through."

"So?" Desmond shot back.

"Isn't science trying to prove that homosexuality is a genetic disorder?"

Desmond's face went flat and he almost glared back at Shaun, but caught himself in time. "Chicks, not dicks, Hastings, thank you."

Shaun's smile was vicious as he gathered up an outfit for the day, something to accommodate the staggering heat outside and the infernal chill inside. "Says the descendant of at least two homosexual Assassins."

Desmond rolled his eyes and shot back, "There's no evidence of that and you damned well know it." He sounded confident, but there was a certain tension in his voice, like Shaun had hit on a secret that only he was supposed to know. "What difference does it make anyway?"

"Just ruffling your dander," Shaun admitted. "Now, the miracle of your translations?"

Desmond knew Shaun wouldn't go any further on the other issue and let it go with a huff. "After Al Mualim's destruction, Altaϊr and Malik became the Masters of Assassins. There was a lot of bullshit in the middle, but after smoothing out a few problems concerning the Apple, they started doing extensive work with ancient texts. I just picked up the linguistic knowledge from Altaϊr."

Shaun nodded and slipped out of his old clothes with a weather eye kept on Desmond's unmoving back. He knew enough of the man to know that he did keep to his word, but he also had his suspicions, all to the tune of: He works with a woman as beautiful as Lucy and he treats her like a friend? In the historian's world, that meant Desmond was either taken or gay and there was no way he wanted Subject 17 eyeing him up when he was unaware.

"To be more precise," Desmond amended into the silence, "Malik learned most of it from his work as a rafiq and he had to teach it to Altaϊr or do the work alone. So, I technically picked the skill up from Malik."

"Semantics are never something to be argued," Shaun shot back, quickly changing into his new clothes and giving Desmond the okay to turn around. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Turning around."

Desmond rolled his eyes and reminded himself that, like other people he'd known, Shaun wouldn't readily thank him for doing hours worth of grueling work. But, that one kind deed had made the Assassin's descendant appreciate the work Shaun did a little more and possibly understand _why_ he was so grumpy all the time. "So, breakfast?"

"Lunch, you mean?"

"Whatever."

Shaun smirked and grabbed his wallet, keycards, and keys out the door. "Don't you have others to bother?"

"Lucy and Becca are tied up with the almighty lobotomizer, leaving me up the creek," Desmond replied glumly as he trailed behind Shaun. "I can assume that I'm like sandpaper against your skin, but I thought we'd grab breakfast… lunch while the girls are working."

Shaun was instantly suspicious. "And what makes you think I want to spend any more time around you than… Desmond!" Instinctually, he panicked when Desmond took a leap over the edge of the railings, rushing to the edge himself to find the infuriating man hopping down a nearby stack of crates to the floor of the warehouse.

"Did I ever mention how cool that is?" Desmond inquired when he hit the concrete.

"I still insist that you're going to get yourself killed," Shaun grumbled to himself as he descended the stairs like a normal person. Internally, where it was safe to admit things he'd never admit aloud, Desmond's increased dexterity was impressive. It also did look fun, something Shaun felt wasn't as dangerous as it looked. But, Subject 17 was the Assassin, not him, and he doubted he'd survive past a vault over a fence, never mind a three story warehouse.

Desmond was still grinning when Shaun finally joined him on the ground floor. "You should have seen Lucy's face when I first did that? I swore to God that she was going to keel over."

"What did you do?" Shaun had to ask.

"I vaulted over the railing and hid under the catwalk," Desmond replied with a devious chuckle. "She freaked out and almost called security until she found me. I think I've still got bruises from her right hook. …Lucy _doesn't_ hit like a girl, just for the record."

Shaun just sighed in exasperation. "Do you intend to be a _dead_ Assassin before you've reached the end of Ezio's memories?"

"Maybe. …And I'm not an Assassin."

"You are, whether you like it or not."

Desmond went to disagree, but couldn't necessarily fault Shaun's logic. Between his time at Abstergo as Altaϊr and with the Assassins as Ezio, he had learned the arts of subterfuge, stealth, agility, and murder, making him as much of an Assassin as his ancestors had been. The thought didn't set well with him at times, but he couldn't blame Shaun for being honest about what he was.

"Desmond?"

Desmond snapped out of his reverie and laughed at himself, ruffling his short hair with an embarrassed grin. "Sorry, just got me thinking."

_And not in a good direction,_ Shaun added silently, having seen the shadows cross Desmond's face. "So, what is so important that you'd risk death for lunch?"

"You just made a couple of notations that I want to ask you about," Desmond replied. "I mean, I'm not disputing them, but I'm sort of curious about your conclusions."

Shaun hummed in surprise and asked, "And what conclusions would those be?"

"Just theories you'd posed for a few of the Assassin's abilities, that's all." Desmond seemed terribly self-conscious and he shifted uncomfortably when he caught Shaun staring at him. "You don't mind?"

"Not for as curious as I am now," Shaun replied. "Where did you intend to go for lunch?"

Desmond seemed to relax with Shaun's assurances that he'd try to coexist for an afternoon and replied, "There's a pretty decent place around the corner. It's far enough away that we can say we got out and close enough that, if we encounter any trouble, we're a sneeze from home."

_He thinks like an Assassin too,_ Shaun noted to himself. _Always keeping tabs on the easiest path to home territory, to a hiding place, and always on the lookout for enemies._ He supposed he should have been amused by Desmond's unconscious behaviors, but they somehow irked him, a little voice whispered in his ear that he was plenty well capable of taking care of himself. _It's lunch and he made a point, a _good _point,_ the historian hissed back.

"Now you're spacing out," Desmond chided into the silence. He bounced over a stack of boxes and shimmied over a stationary forklift to reach the back door first. "After you, _Ser_ Hastings."

Shaun found that rolling his eyes and sighing were about the only ways he could civilly deal with Desmond the more he was around the man. Eventually, he knew Subject 17 would call him out on the constant eye rolling and sighing and he'd have to find a new coping mechanism, but they worked for the moment and he was content with that.

* * *

Unseen to either Shaun or Desmond (so they hoped) Lucy and Rebecca watched Shaun exit the stronghold after Desmond with impish grins on their faces.

"Shaun's gonna come back in pieces!" Rebecca giggled.

"Becca! Don't say that!" Lucy chastised.

"Oh, come on! Shaun's so uptight that Des is gonna rub him the wrong way and start a fight that he'll never win," Rebecca shot back. "I mean, seriously, Desmond's got skills now."

Lucy sighed and leaned against the railing, her back to the door, once she was sure that neither man would dart back in the door. "Be that as it may, you know we're going to see those skills of his first hand if either one of them finds out that the Animus isn't broken."

Rebecca grinned and shrugged nonchalantly, like it was perfectly okay to prank potentially lethal Assassins. "They'll never know, so don't worry about it."

Lucy wasn't so sure of that, but let the subject drop before it turned to bickering. "So, do you think it'll work?"

"I'm pretty sure it'll work better than we think," Rebecca replied brightly, deftly twirling something that looked remotely like a hard drive between her fingers. "Hell, look at the way they argue. From what you told me, that alone is a solid yes."

Lucy crossed her arms with a mildly concerned look in her eyes. "I know no harm can come of this. He either is or isn't what we're looking for, but I don't want to hurt anyone in the middle."

Rebecca heard the edge to Lucy's voice and leaned forward to catch the woman's wandering stare. "How could a harmless little experiment hurt anyone, huh?"

Lucy smiled knowingly and pushed away from the railing. "Remember, I saw a lot more than you guys when I was in Abstergo, so I know a lot more than you."

"That means you're not telling, doesn't it?"

Lucy's reply was a simple smile over her shoulder.

* * *

Moving outside of the stronghold had become a real pain in the ass for anyone involved with the Assassins, but Shaun found it incredibly amusing that Desmond felt the need to hide his face on the streets and sit in the furthest corner of the restaurant, only removing his hood when he'd deemed it safe.

"Paranoid?"

Desmond scoffed, "You have no idea. Abstergo's looking for me and I do _not_ want to go back, so I'd rather be safe than dead." He felt a presence behind him and had to fight the urge to defend himself, reasoning that a waitress was the furthest thing from harmful that he could encounter on the streets.

In good order, Shaun and Desmond ordered their lunches and waited until the waitress left, the silence between them expectant and nervous on the latter's behalf.

"So, you had questions to ask me?" Shaun inquired when he grew sick of the lull. He saw Desmond look around again and he saw that _look_, the one he suspected was the Assassin's descendant checking the area for enemies. "So?"

Desmond didn't reply until he was satisfied that they were either surrounded by white or blue auras and settled down significantly, though he appeared ready to tense up at a moment's notice. "If you don't mind?"

Shaun shrugged and leaned against his elbows, unconsciously following the path of a woman that walked by, sizing her up as a non-threat without meaning to. "By all means…"

"How did you draw you conclusions on the Second Sight?" Apparently, Desmond didn't know what tact was in a conversation. "I mean, you put down some pretty specific notes and damn well wrote a dissertation on its evolution."

Shaun felt himself puff up a little when he heard awe in Desmond's voice, but didn't rub it in to avoid an argument. "Research, and a lot of it, if you can imagine."

"But you were pretty damned specific, Shaun."

"I like to make my intentions clean, vocally and on paper."

Desmond tensed when he heard a scrape behind him and sighed when he forced himself to uncoil, to focus on the conversation and remember that going out was his idea. "I know we have some of the groups come in and out at various times. Did you talk to any of them?"

It was Shaun's turn to be awed by Desmond's expert deduction. "As a matter of fact, I did. Between the texts I accessed and the information I gleaned from the different Assassin groups, I found I could comfortably pen a competent theory on the Assassin's Second Sight."

Desmond didn't look exceptionally convinced, but he held his tongue when he heard the waitress coming with their food. He nodded to her when she set his lunch and drink down and again waited until she'd gone to state, "It's personal."

"I don't see how."

"It's…" Desmond considered how to phrase his thoughts while he smothered his French fries in catsup, eyes always daring this way or that to assess passersby as benign or malign. "You spoke very well to the Sight abilities of the other lines of Assassins, but it seemed to me like you took the relaying of the Maysaf lines personally."

"I've seen how the Second Sight works for the line through your secessions," Shaun stated, as if it were that easy. "I concluded that the ability evolves over time, since Lucy told me that Altaϊr was incapable of movement while using his Sight while Ezio could run all across Italy and use it as he pleased. I suspect that you can do likewise."

Desmond made a face of disgust and stabbed his hamburger in a puddle of catsup viciously. "You have no friggin' idea, Hastings." It gives me a headache, more often than not."

"How _does_ the Sight work for you?" Shaun asked as he evened dressing over his salad.

"Like a psychotic light switch."

Shaun had to laugh at the reply and shook his head. "Is it more like Altaϊr's or Ezio's?"

"Oh, it's all mine," Desmond grumbled with another vicious stab of his burger into the catsup. "I can use it when I want to, but it'll activate all on its own if there's an enemy nearby. It keeps me on edge all the time."

Shaun paused for a moment. "Even in the stronghold?"

"Altaϊr let his guard down and the master nutcase tried to turn Maysaf into a city of creepy zombies. Ezio let his guard down and the whole merry band of conspirators turned his brothers and father into a wind chime." Desmond took a bite of his lunch, chewed, and swallowed before he spoke again. "I've learned my lesson from their mistakes."

"There has to be a measure of trust for you to go under in the Animus," Shaun stated, oddly hurt by Desmond's suspicions. "Otherwise, you wouldn't do it."

"I've learned how to keep myself partially aware," Desmond replied quietly, "so I'll be up and in someone's face long before they can shank me."

Shaun sighed and had to turn the subject elsewhere before he was forced to examine why Desmond's admission felt like a kick in the gut. "We digress –you were interrogating me, not the other way around."

"Yeah… So, you really do want me to believe that you made all these startling deductions from books and some talking?" Desmond asked after a beat.

"Yes, because that's what happened," Shaun replied dryly. "Is it so hard to believe that you're not the only one that can make an educated…" He trailed off when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Discreetly, he turned and his eyes narrowed when he saw a middle aged man sit at a table by the door, his hackles going up at the distinct feeling he got from the man. "Desmond, over there."

"I know." Desmond had already caught the bright red presence in the restaurant and was already looking for a way out. He spotted a family gearing up to leave and tapped Shaun. "If we go with them."

Shaun shook his head and pointed back towards the kitchens, where he had caught some sort of faint color distortion. "There's at least one other right behind us."

Desmond looked to confirm Shaun's statement and felt a shock of surprise hit him when the historian's claim was validated and true in number. "Shit! How in the hell do we get out of here then?"

Shaun was already mulling the problem over, eyes darting between the two Abstergo agents that had snuck in under the radar. _They're trained well enough to fool Desmond's Sight, so they aren't to be taken lightly. Both exits are blocked and we can't afford to make a scene. We can't afford to catch their attention more than we have either, since we can't be leading them back to the stronghold. Biggest problem is that Desmond can get out of here undetected and I can't._

"They're outside, around the back now. I heard a truck pull in and hit something metallic," Desmond growled under his breath, turning back to his meal to appear normal, though he hunched closer to the table. "Goddamnit…"

_We can get out._ Shaun looked around the area critically, studying everything he could and analyzing it as a potential hazard or hiding spot. There were only hazards to be had and he almost cursed when something white passed by; he looked up in time to see a waiter bustle by. _That's it!_ "Desmond, the wait staff."

"What?" Desmond hissed.

Shaun leaned in closer so as not to be overheard. "Double check me, but we can use the wait staff to sneak past the agent behind us."

Desmond would have loved to believe Shaun, but he had to check for himself and shock came right back to hit him when his Sight clearly marked the wait staff in white as hiding spots. _I will be damned… How'd he know that?_ "You're scaring me, Hastings."

"I'm starting to scare myself," Shaun admitted under his breath. "Come on. Several patrons just sat down, so there will be a steady enough stream through here that we can sneak out."

Desmond pulled his hood up and slid to the end of the booth to check on the flow of foot traffic, not quite pleased with its volume. "It's not enough," he reported grimly. He could see more red figures approaching the entrance and his instincts screamed at him to _killfightrunaway_ loud enough that he almost couldn't think.

"Just wait," Shaun assured the younger man, calmer and confident in his plan.

Desmond waited until the urge to start utilizing his fork in creative and homicidal ways became overbearing, cagey with the addition of five more Abstergo agents to strategic points in the restaurant. "We're completely-"

"Now!" Shaun grabbed Desmond by the wrist and darted into a thicker steam of wait staff, unsure of what he was doing or where he was going with his instincts pulling him along surely as he pulled Desmond. But, if it got them out free and alive, he would move now and ask questions later.


	2. Survivalism

With Desmond and Shaun out and Rebecca busy decimating foes on the MMORPGs she indulged in during her free time, Lucy found herself with nothing to do but hang around the warehouse and amuse herself. "Amusement" constituted mock fights with completely harmless training dummies, but the exertion never failed to take the edge off when she became too edge from inactivity. It would have been nicer if Desmond were around, because Lucy just took more gratification from knowing she had either triumphed or failed against a living being.

"_Pèrdon,_ _Señorita_ Stillman?"

Lucy pivoted on her heel in the middle of a kick to a dummy's head and thanked God that the man behind her had the sense to catch her ankle before she made contact. "Sorry, sorry!" she immediately apologize. She had almost accidentally kicked an _Asesino_ in the head and, by the look of his overly long sleeves, he had weaponry hidden on him.

The man let Lucy's ankle go with a wry smile. "You have the reflexes of an _Asesino, Señorita_ Stillman."

"Call me Lucy, please. What's wrong, Tavares?"

The _Asesino _pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to reveal that he was indeed wearing the bracer for a hidden blade. "The patrol just returned and Natalia and Seiya informed me that there's movement on the block. No one alerted the agents to our position, but Seiya made it very clear that they're looking."

Lucy felt her irritation return in spades and her lips set into a hard line at the news. The _Ansatsusha_ and _Cossack_ were some of the best Assassins around and their word rarely turned into a false alarm; that Tavares had approached her bode even worse for the stronghold, as the _Asesino _was the security expert.

"_Señorita_ Lucy?"

"Trying to calm down," Lucy breathed, though her jaw remained tense. "Who happens to be on hand right now?"

"Ten, maybe twelve if we're lucky," Tavares replied with an unerring calm that was almost infuriating. "Should we lock down or get rid of them?"

Lucy laughed and shook her head. "You ask me as though I'm in charge here!"

"You may as well be," Tavares chuckled. "You braved Templar territory, recovered one of the Maysaf line, and have never made a bad call where our well-being is concerned. You may well be the _Maestro_, if I say so myself."

Lucy blew out a strained breath and looked around with the panicky sense that the walls were closing in on her. She always felt like that when agents got too close to the stronghold, her sense of safety removed until the threat was gone. _And the only way that's going to happen is if we get rid of it. But… if we move, it may cause more trouble that we need right now. Leave them alone and hope they don't start knocking on doors?_ She glanced around again and knew that, if the agents started getting suspicious, they would only find the front of an industrial vendor struggling to hang on in hard economic times.

Tavares patiently waited for Lucy to deliberate, far too familiar with the young woman's back and forth struggles over the safest route to take.

"Keep an eye on them," Lucy finally stated. "No on moves unless they do. The bastards have yet to look for entrance and even if they do, they won't find anything but a warehouse."

"_Buenos,_" Tavares murmured. "Have fun with your training and I will inform you if the situation-"

"Desmond and Shaun!"

Tavares turned back and saw cold horror etched into Lucy's expression. "What of them?"

"They're out!" Lucy exclaimed and the suspicious gears of her mind started to work in terrible directions. _What if the agents have this place already scoped out? What if they tailed Desmond and Shaun without them knowing? …They both have amazing instincts, but what if they were captured?_ "Shit!"

"We will find them and bring them back," Tavares stated before Lucy could think straight again.

Lucy shook her head wildly, almost knocking her hair out of its ponytail. "Don't! Take them to the safe house across town until the agents get bored with looking for us."

"_Comprendió_."

* * *

Being chased was always a wild rush, but Desmond hated to admit that this chase was a little more exhilarating than others. Not only was he totally surrounded, but he had Shaun's safely to think of – dashing out like a madman and running about until he shook his tail wasn't an option. Then again, given that Shaun was the one dragging Desmond through throngs of wait staff and patrons, maybe the man could handle himself?

The pair was silent as they slipped through the crowd, spotting each other for enemies until they managed to get into the kitchen and hide in a niche that kept them partially out of view.

"Cool," was all Desmond could say, all of his Assassin instincts readying him for an all-out throw down with his least favorite fans.

Shaun rolled his eyes and glanced around, his eyes tight as he hissed, "They're back here as well. The chefs, we totally missed them when we came in."

Desmond frequented the restaurant enough to know that none of the staff had ever shown up red in his Sight and surmised that agents had been slipped inside sometime in the past week. _Which means that they're getting closer._ His nose wrinkled in disgust and he cast such thoughts aside to focus on getting him and Shaun the hell out of dodge. "Well, you got us this far. What the hell do we do now?"

"You're the bloody Assassin, not me!" Shaun snarled.

Desmond knew Shaun wasn't so bad off if the historian could still snap and snarl at him like a Chihuahua and patted him on the shoulder. "Just stay still." He leaned around Shaun to peer around the corner, not ignorant to the other man's soft, controlled breath on his neck, and ignored it like the panicky thoughts banging through his head. _Three agents visible and God knows how many that're out of sight._ His gaze flicked over the three targets his Sight had picked up and he lamented the lack of white in the area.

"So?" Shaun demanded impatiently, quite sick of being a post for Desmond to lean on. The Assassin's descendant did wear nice cologne though… _Goddamnit, now is not the time!_ He grit his teeth when Desmond pulled back and didn't like the terse grin on the other's face. "What?"

"You good at running, Hastings?"

"If I have to be."

"Trust me, you have to be."

"What…" Shaun was inspired to glance around the corner as well and sighed in exasperation when he pulled back. "This is just ducky. I'm stuck dodging the patsies of megalomaniacal cockers with a man whose only defense is 'my centuries dead ancestors taught me how to fight!'."

Desmond had to appreciate Shaun's ability to be blazingly sarcastic in the middle of a life-or-death situation and took another glance around to find the one red mark in the nearest isle had moved. "We can get a jump on them. Ready?"

"I have no other choice."

Desmond took a deep breath and bolted, his steps fleet and soundless against the ground, sure that Shaun was agile enough to keep up with him. As he passed the ovens, he saw two of the three marks move and put another burst of speed into his run, reaching back to grab for Shaun's wrist to keep him nearby.

It was unnecessary, since Shaun was right at Desmond's shoulder, far enough back so as not to cause a fall and close enough to keep rank.

"There they are!"

"Get them!"

Desmond grinned manically and bolted through the rest of the kitchens with two seeming chefs and three stockers in his wake. "Try to catch us, fuckers… AH!"

Shaun threw Desmond forward, having heard the slam of a gun's hammer, and trusted Subject 17 to follow through and roll to his feet. He himself dodged and rolled forward, coming back to a full run without losing his momentum. Ahead of him, Desmond managed the same and peeled to the left with a fast movement for Shaun to go right.

The pair split around a walk-in freezer, around the square and met back up on the other side to run for the back door, attuned to their pursuers and determined to get free. When they hit the outside, Desmond and Shaun split to the left and right without words or motions and stopped, glancing back and at each other.

"We have to get rid of them," Shaun growled.

"_Throw me your sash!"_

"…_What? Have you gone out of your mind?"_

"_Don't ask questions. Just do it!"_

Desmond grinned and shucked his sweatshirt off and peered around the corner to see the agents were almost on them. "Just follow my lead and trust me."

Shaun had half an idea as to what Desmond was up to and nodded, warily eying the twin bracers the removal of Desmond's sweatshirt had revealed. _He's never killed anyone before. We've kept him locked up, away from Abstergo and the Templars… can he actually do it?_

"Now!"

Shaun grabbed the one sleeve of Desmond's sweatshirt with cat-like reflexes, pulling back on the garment right as the agents stormed through the doorway. He held tight when they hit the block and tripped over it or fell back in a tangled pile of seven confused men.

Desmond let his side go first and his thumbs automatically went for the releases on his blades, pure instinct driving his motions as he leapt at the first agent to recover, his right blade going into his neck and the left plunging into the skull of the next nearest agent. He ripped them out in a spray of blood, gray matter smeared across his left blade as he lunged forward to push both into the largest of the agents, tearing the blades down the man's torso and ripping out. He used the body to push another agent down and reached behind him to pull a switch blade, one hand throwing the dagger with precision while the other darted forward to push his hidden blade through the eye of the agent that tried to tackle him.

Shaun stood in paralyzed shock when Desmond straightened out, masked and covered in blood and gore, unable to believe the carnage he had just seen on man cause. _He can do it…_ The thought scared the man into catatonia, eyes wide and face pale as he watched Desmond clean his blades against his jeans, leaving gray-red smears across the once clean denim.

"You okay?" Desmond asked as he wiped a smear of brains off his face to shake it off his hand, ignoring the wet slap it made against the ground. He retrieved his knife and cleaned it as well with a worried eye set on Shaun. "Hey, hello?"

Shaun nodded shakily, winded as though he had been the one to massacre six men without a thought. _Wait… six?_ The thought crossed his mind and he saw the missing agent rise behind Desmond; he honed in on the red aura and gun the man readied with deadened panic.

"_Are you alright?"_

_He looked up from the two bodies that lie on the ground, pale and shaking and wide-eyed. "Yes, I've just… I've never see a man die before. It's not pleasant, is it?"_

"_And you say I question my path too much? Come on-HEY!"_

_He had seen the guard come around the corner and reacted before he could think, pulling the other down and letting his dagger fly before the guard could do any harm._

"Shaun?" Desmond pressed. "Are you- HEY!"

Shaun pulled Desmond down hard the same time the agent fired. His hands caught the other's switch blade as he went down and, without thinking, threw the blade with perfect precision.

Desmond watched, stunned, from the ground as Shaun staggered back and the agent dropped dead, his knife lodged between the woman's eyes perfectly. "Holy…" He blinked to make sure he'd really seen what he'd seen before he heard a groan and looked to find Shaun hunched over, a hand held to a shoulder that oozed blood profusely. _He just took a bullet because of me?_ "Shaun, Shaun are you okay?"

"It's not fatal," Shaun grit out, in pain but assured that he would survive. "Come on, there will be more of the limey bastards."

Desmond dodged over to get his switch blade and sweatshirt, slicing it to make rough bandages for Shaun's shoulder. "Here, it's not much, but it'll help until we get somewhere safe."

"Much appreciated." Shaun flinched away from Desmond when he tightened the bandage almost unbearably, but knew it was necessary to staunch the blood flow. "There's a safe house around here."

"First, we get into the crowds," Desmond shot back. "They won't move if we're in a public area. When we shake them, we'll get to the safe house."

Shaun wouldn't argue and let Desmond take the lead, realizing dimly that he had blood on his glasses. _I just killed someone…_ The feeling wasn't as terrible as he thought and the fleeting joy he'd felt when the blade had hit home in that woman's skull scared him. _What truly scares me is I felt as though I've done this before._

"You'll be fine," Desmond murmured as he neared the edge of the alley and glanced around to find nothing but plentiful white and blue on the street. "Come on, no reds to be had." He grabbed Shaun's wrist to keep him close, justifiably protective of the historian after the man had taken a bullet for him _and_ possibly saved his life. _Assassin reflexes and I still miss one. My ancestors are rolling in their graves._

"What about you?" Shaun murmured, uncannily quiet and demure. "You've never killed before."

"Never myself, but I've done it so many times through Altaϊr and Ezio that it's still second nature." Desmond glanced over and saw a peculiar hardness in Shaun's eyes, something he only saw in the other Assassins and himself. _It didn't affect him that badly…_

_

* * *

  
_

_

* * *

_

"_Mí Díos…_" Tavares breathed when he came upon the carnage Desmond had left behind. "It looks like Lucy was right – they _were_ here." He looked up and around, flicking dark curly hair over his shoulder before it got in his way. "The question is, were they smart enough to go to the safe house or did they go back to the stronghold?"

The _Ansatsusha_ Seiya tapped Tavares on the shoulder and pointed towards the mouth of the alley. "It's very faint, but there's a trail leading to the right."

Tavares glanced back and saw the very faint gold trail he had missed in his distraction over the mess of dead agents and hummed to himself. "Guess that's why you're the tracker and not me," he chuckled.

Seiya sighed and headed for the mouth of the alley, the deceptively innocent chains on his pants jingling softly in the deathly silence. "Come on, Tavares. There's blood against the wall and it doesn't belong to the _dainin_."

Tavares nodded and followed after Seiya, blending to the bustling crowd with the _Ansatsusha_ seamlessly, appearing to be just another transient on his way back from lunch break. He trusted Seiya to lead the way, as his Sight was more attuned to predict enemy movement and position whereas Seiya's was geared towards tracking and tracing. He could follow the trail on his own, but it was almost too faded for him to comfortably follow.

Seiya, on the other hand, saw a much brighter trail than his _Asesino_ brother and kept his pace fast when he saw foreboding crimson auras against the ground. "Whichever one was injured, they're bleeding badly."

"Can't go by height," Tavares stated, "because they're both the same height…" He ducked around a group of chattering girls and strayed away from Seiya when he caught sight of a small group of red marks across the street, waiting for the signal to cross. "To your eleven, Seiya."

Seiya nodded his understanding and pulled out his iPod, slipping the earbuds into his ears, but not turning the music on. A cell phone appeared from his pockets next and he appeared to be no more than a wandering college student too busy texting to bother with the real world. The front gave him the ability to keep his head down and follow the trail that was growing steadily brighter.

Meanwhile, Tavares kept a weather eye on the crowd, his Sight alerting him to a duo of crumbled red marks in an alley he passed the same time Seiya stopped and went to sit at a nearby bench, nose still buried in his cell phone. The _Asesino_ himself crossed the flow of people to sit by Seiya to ask, "What?"

"The trail splits two ways," Seiya replied tersely, aware that Tavares' Sight couldn't detect blood. "The first blood trail is lesser, but there is another, worse one that leads the way we were going. There's enemy blood on the ground over there, but much more leading away from here." He handed Tavares his cell phone to allude to the fact that they were strangers that had met, one with a cell phone and the other needed one.

"There are more agents in this area," Tavares stated quietly as he feigned a phone call, his self-held conversation short and concise, as if he had called his secretary for some meager matter. "And more coming from behind us. They are actively tracking Hastings and Miles."

"Then we need to find them first," Seiya growled and took his cell phone back to keep "texting" as he got up. "Wait a minute, then catch up to me."

Tavares nodded and leaned back on the bench, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. It was as much a cover as it was the need for a butt and he kept an eye on Seiya as the _Ansaysusha_'s bright blue head disappeared into the crowd. He checked his watch before he lit his cigarette, silently praying, _Díos, let them be alright, por favor._

_

* * *

_

_

* * *

_

Shaun and Desmond spent the better part of the day dodging agents and by the time they were clear to hit the safe house across town, they were a sad sight to behold. Shaun was cross-eyed from not only his shoulder would, but what was possibly a broken leg and Desmond was almost unconscious from the gaping wound and broken bones an agent had bestowed upon his ribcage. They were still alive and they had that to be thankful for when they stumbled across the threshold of the safe house, a furnished studio apartment rented by an allied Assassin force.

"I'll just sleep here," Desmond croaked from where he'd hit the floor, his body done trying to keep up with his demands. "Night, Hastings."

Shaun turned in his crusade to a nearby chair and had the gall and reserves to pull Desmond to his feet, limping to set the wounded man on the couch. "There're medical supplies around here somewhere. I'll get them."

Desmond heard the entendre in Shaun's statement and stubbornly got to his feet with grit teeth. "I'm not a fucking cripple. Sit down and get off your leg before you have bones poking through your skin."

"Too late," Shaun bit back, so happy to see that Desmond was still capable of being an asshole. "Sit or I push you."

"Bite me." Desmond muscled past Shaun and opened a window a crack on his way to the bathroom. He was a pretty laid back guy, but his pride rarely let him stay still – letting Shaun tend his wound was simply unacceptable. He doubted Shaun would be treated quietly either, but he would beat the man unconscious if he had to.

"You're astounding," Shaun growled as he limped behind Desmond. "You have a bloody fucking hole in your side and you're moving around? Sit the hell down and let me get the kits!"

Desmond entered the bathroom and had to stop to catch his breath, displeased with the way _something_ kept poking his lungs. When he had his wind back, he sorted through the deep medicine cabinet for a catch in the back face, popping it open to reveal half a hospital's worth of medical supplies. "Sit the fuck down, Hastings."

"You are going to bleed to death, you sit down," Shaun shot back. He grew more frustrated when Desmond refused to listen and would have kicked the man into the cabinet mirror if his leg wasn't bent at wholly unnatural angle. "God, why do I feel like I've had this bleeding argument before?!" he exclaimed in frustration.

Desmond shoved one of the kits at Shaun as he passed by and growled, "There, help yourself." He was tired, dirty, wired, in pain, and in no mood for Shaun's shit. He went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, peeling his shirt off with a hiss and barely contained scream. _Son of a bitch shanked me but good._

Shaun flopped down next to Desmond and bit out, "I knew there was a reason I avoided you, Miles. You attract trouble like no other being in creation."

Desmond ignored the comment and opened the kit to pull out the necessary supplies. When he turned up bereft on needle and thread, he held his hand out. "I need your kit for the stitching supplies."

Shaun arched a brow and smirked. "And I need your kit for the splints. Impasse, maybe?"

"Don't be a dick or so help me…" Desmond made it very clear that he was the one who was armed. "Give it to me."

Shaun wasn't too frightened of the hidden blade that could fly into his throat from their distance, not after what he had seen and done in the span of an afternoon. "How are you going to stitch that up anyway, Miles? If you did manage it, it would be atrocious."

"I'll be content in the fact that you'll have a hell of a time putting your leg back together."

Then, both men realized that they would have to depend on each other if they didn't want to bleed to death or die of infection later.

"Goddamnit," Desmond swore.

"Agreed," Shaun grumbled. "You first?"

"No, you." There was no way in hell Desmond was going to appear weaker to a man who already thought him useless by accepting aid first.

"Ribs can't be comfortable parked in your lungs."

"And radial bones can't be pleasant when stuck on denim."

Shaun sighed and decided he would have to be the voice of logic. He didn't want to appear any more helpless to Desmond than he already had, but they'd both bleed to death before they managed to get over their pride. "If we position ourselves right, you can work on my leg and I your side at the same time."

"I…" Desmond sighed and pulled his chair over so that minimal moving would have to be done. "Fine."

* * *

"_Aquì_!" Tavares suddenly exclaimed.

Seiya stopped short and backtracked at the _Asesino's_ shout and looked up at the modest little building he hadn't known contained a safe house. "This isn't right," he murmured. "The safe house is another six blocks from here."

"It's a recent addition," Tavares replied as he started to figure out a way to get in without detection. Neither Assassin had picked up tails, but they weren't too keen on entering through the front door – it was just too dangerous. "Do you think one of them thought to open a window?"

"If not, I can get us in," Seiya sighed. "After you, _kyoudaibun_."

"_Gracìas, hermano jurado_." Tavares slunk into a slender alleyway and looked up, smiling complacently when he found enough handholds in the walls to get to a window about three stories up (the given elevation of a safe house) that had curtains fluttering through them.

Seiya kept point on the ground as Tavares scaled the seemingly flush wall with the natural skill of an Assassin, not looking forward to the climb himself. He hated heights despite his frequent work with them and never liked scaling walls without some sort of assistance.

Tavares damn well knew that, but figured that Seiya wouldn't have become an _Ansatsuha_ if he wasn't prepared for _all_ of the risks involved._ He climbs like a damned cat anyway_. He shrugged and hefted himself up the last handhold to rap on the window in a one-two-one series that signified the presence of an ally.

"Come in at your own risk, Assassin."

Tavares smirked and called down for Seiya to come up before he hefted himself in through the window. He had to follow the soft sounds of cursing into the kitchen and he stopped for a moment to appreciate the scene that greeted him on his arrival.

Desmond was hunched over Shaun's leg, covered in blood, swearing and glaring at the historian's leg bone nastily while he flinched every so often or swore more colorfully. Shaun was mostly hidden behind Desmond, arms working tirelessly around the Assassin's descendant, but he stopped and swore just as loudly whenever Desmond attempted to shove his leg back into place. For one pain caused, the other caused as much pain, creating a cycle of flinching and swearing that got them nowhere fast.

"Fancy yourselves doctors, now?" Tavares chuckled, relieved to find both men alive.

Shaun glared around Desmond's back, his sneer damn near animal as he snarled, "Help or shut the fuck up."

"They're in a good mood," Seiya chuckled under his breath as he appeared beside Tavares. "Should we help them?"

"Looks like they've got this angle covered," Tavares replied wryly. "We'll contact Lucy and let her know everything's fine before we scout the perimeter. We'll take shifts through the night and return to the safe house in the morning."

Seiya nodded and slipped out of the room quietly as a wraith to do the first check.

"Stop jamming my ribs where they don't belong!" Desmond snarled.

"They stop playing the National fucking Anthem with my leg!" Shaun snapped back.

_They're more than fine,_ Tavares chuckled to himself as he left to go find the phone to contact Lucy.

"THAT HURT!"

"Good!"


	3. A Dog Chasing its Own Tail

For having been chased across the city, beaten, stabbed, mauled, and then stitched back together, Desmond found it unfair that he was so damned wired. When he'd first hit the floor of the safe house, he'd felt ready to pass out and maybe wake up in a week, but after the first aid was done with and he'd tried to sleep, he couldn't. Part of that he could blame on the Animus (both incarnations of the evil little bitch) and the absolutely fantastic dreams he had whenever he tried to sleep. Dreams about slaughtering unsuspecting targets or flying through the streets to escape the guards he could appreciate and possibly rest through.

Dreams about the rest of his ancestors' lives… well, Desmond couldn't sleep through those.

He knew he should sleep and did try to the best of his ability, but Desmond was pretty sure that he wasn't up for _another_ rousing look at Altaϊr and Ezio's love lives. So, he'd hauled himself from his temporary bed and shuffled out into the living room to watch TV and pray to God that he'd fall asleep and see something _other_ than his tough-as-nails ancestors acting like love struck morons.

"You should be sleeping, Miles."

Desmond froze at the back of the couch, already honed in on the voice from behind him. The accented voice registered before he could react and he felt a mild shock of surprise as he turned to the kitchen to find Shaun awake. "I thought that's what you were doing?"

"While the painkillers were a brilliant idea," Shaun replied at length, "they never fail to send me into a parallel. I believe I could scale a building right now."

Desmond grinned at the irritation in Shaun's voice and went to sit across from the older man after getting a glass of water. "Consider yourself lucky. You might get to go to sleep by three."

Shaun glanced over the edge of the clipboard that held some sort of work with an arched brow. "How should I take that comment?"

"Gratefully," Desmond chuckled, a bit woefully for his own plight. When Shaun continued to stare, he laughed and explained with a roundabout, "My brain likes to give me instant replays of what I see in the Animus and it can get irritating sometimes."

Shaun, far as he put himself from the Animus 2.0, didn't quite know what to make of Desmond's statement, but let the conversation drop all the same. He went back to whatever he had been doing before, the pen he had searched high and low for scratching steadily across the paper.

Desmond just watched quietly, noting the tension seep out of Shaun's shoulders as he worked, the look of almost peace that settled into his expression, the absolute focus he had on whatever had captivated him. _When he's distracted, he almost looks like a personable guy…_ The thought provoked a little eye roll and a subtle reminder of something that had been scratching at him since the first agents had shown up. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"No, you may not. Last time you wanted to ask a question, it led to us running like madmen across the city for our lives," Shaun muttered back and the tension returned to his shoulders. "Go watch TV."

Desmond recoiled with an affronted scowl on his face. "You think you can dismiss me like I'm some sort of kid?"

"I'm older, so yes."

"I outrank you!" Desmond backtracked a bit and felt the familiar sting of aggravation when he found himself practically echoing words of long-gone men with similar ego issues.

Shaun's pen never stilled, through he did dare to look up for a moment. "You are not even an Assassin yet, Miles. You have the skills of an Assassin and you are descended of the most notorious of the lines, but that doesn't mean you have the official title to flaunt. If nothing else, you are a novice."

The grit-tooth aggravation that assailed Desmond at the crack was and wasn't his own, ancient and personal indignation at being sleighed rising up in a great rush. "Bold words for a bookworm."

The pen finally stilled and flew at Desmond's head with fantastic accuracy. "Go away, _novice._"

Right then, Desmond wished to God he could move well enough to beat Shaun into a pulp. But, since he couldn't, he settled on throwing the pen right back at the historian with as much force as he could muster. "What in the hell did I ever do to you, Hastings?"

"Until recently, nothing."

"What?!"

"Recently would include that bit I mentioned about running across the city like mad men. Until that point, I just don't like you."

Desmond bit down hard on the urge to kick Shaun's broken leg and reminded himself that he would just have to set it again. "You 'just don't like' me? That's your best defense for being a total asshole towards me?"

"Listen, you sit in a chair all day and dream your way through your ancestors' lives," Shaun shot back scathingly, "while I slave over texts to not only find answers for the Assassins, but for you in your insipid endeavors."

"You really do think that the Animus isn't without its dangers, don't you?" Desmond hissed.

Shaun nodded with a cool smirk.

"You saw what I did to those agents in the alley," Desmond growled. "How many 'normal' people have you seen do that?"

Shaun's bravado faltered slightly at the reminder of Desmond's feral display of violence, but he refused to back down. "A transference effect isn't a danger, Miles. It just makes for a glorified nap." His voice took on an edge as he added, "And I would prefer it if you didn't mention what happened again."

"So that you don't have to be reminded that your baby soft hands were stained today?" Desmond sneered with full intentions of hurting Shaun. He risked his sanity every time he went into the Animus, his bonds between reality and history pulled and tested with every step he took in his ancestors' shadows. It irked him and actually _hurt_ to hear that his work was viewed on the same level as channel surfing. He wanted to hurt the man back and knew where to hit. "You don't want to admit that, for as far as you keep yourself from the Assassins, you've got to get bloody too."

"I work side by side with the Assassins," Shaun snapped as he slapped his clipboard and pen down hard. "I have bled for, worked with, and sacrificed a great deal for this bloody fucking war… More than _you_ have."

Desmond wanted to strike, but kept his weapons restrained to his tongue. _Shaun doesn't know that I learned from the best. __Altaϊr__'s tongue was sharper than his sword._ "You shy away from them all, Hastings! You sit in your dark little corner all day and night, communicating with the world around you through IMs and e-mails, just so that you don't have to see what's really going on around you."

_SMACK!_

Desmond reeled back from his half-standing position, a hand held to his face where Shaun had smacked him good and hard. His reaction was instantaneous and he slugged Shaun as hard as possible, his grin feral when the historian toppled back in his chair and spilled across the floor.

By the time Shaun recovered from the hit that felt like it'd taken his bottom jaw off, Desmond was long gone. He sat there in fuming silence, furious that Desmond would _dare_ insinuate that he was the distant slacker, and fearful under the surface of his anger. _The arm Miles swung with… He was wearing his bracer._

It could have been called a coincidence, but Shaun knew that Assassins made very loud statements without speaking. Desmond had just let Shaun know that he could have taken the man's life and had the power to decide whether or not he wanted to. He had warned Shaun not to push his line again, had screamed, "Don't fuck with me!", and then begged for the issue to go no further.

Desmond had done all of that with the selection of his left arm for one sucker punch and it scared Shaun.

* * *

Desmond slammed the bedroom door behind him hard and threw himself on his bed, ribs be damned, to scream long and loud into the pillows. He'd never known that one person could infuriate him so thoroughly and he knew he had to calm down before he decided that shanking Shaun would make the rest of his life a much easier task. _The good doctor pissed me off, but he was a kitten next to Hastings! God, I've never _actually_ wanted to kill someone before!_ When he'd slugged Shaun, he'd almost hit his thumb against the hidden blade's trigger, but rationality had stopped him.

The Assassins counted on Shaun's historical and linguistic skills to make sense of the texts they recovered, making him invaluable to the operation. There was also the matter of Shaun being innocent (no matter how involved he was) and the Creed disallowing the murder of innocents. Then there was that bit about not betraying a brother of the Creed…

Desmond sighed and pulled his face out of the pillows to flop onto his back and glare at the ceiling. "I hate him."

"He's not so bad if you stop antagonizing him, _bā b__ài_."

Desmond had his switch blade in hand and ready to throw before he was even in an upright position. But, when he found a petite young lady perched on his window sill, he blew out a strained breath and fell back on his pillows. "You guys are a suicidal bunch sometimes," he groaned.

The _Xiōng Sh__ǒ__u_ Fang-Yi giggled at Desmond. "I couldn't help but overhear you and Shaun fighting. Your face looks a little bruised…"

"You should see him," Desmond muttered. "I probably knocked his bottom jaw clean off."

Fang-Yi's dark eyes narrowed and she managed the feat of maintaining her balance and crossing her arms. "What did he say to elicit _that_ sort of response?"

"He thinks I'm useless and I think he's got no spine," Desmond replied in a near-grumble. "He pissed all over me, I pissed all over him, and we traded blows."

Fang-Yi sighed and shook her head in disapproval. "It's a very bad idea to be biting the hand that feeds, _bā b__ài_."

"It's not like he's been any help to me."

"You two work like ying and yang," Fang-Yi retorted smartly. "Shaun needs your time in the Animus to put together the pieces of the puzzle and you need his research to know what to look for in the memory world. And, that is ignoring the fact that, like it or not, you two are brothers of the Creed."

"He's the first mercenary historian ever, that's all," Desmond stated. "He is no Assassin."

Fang-Yi's grin was too sweet for comfort. "Your _Xiōng Sh__ǒ__u_ ancestor, Ezio, didn't he start off as the son of a banker?"

"Giovanni Auditore was an _Assassino_ for the di Medici family; being a banker was a cover to hide his tracks," Desmond corrected, but he paused thoughtfully. "Ezio had no idea what he was doing when he took up arms… you're right."

"The instinct was there, buried in his DNA memory, and he _became_ a _Xiōng Sh__ǒ__u_," Fang-Yi stated, gleeful that Desmond had to bend to her argument. "You've come into your own as well, but you started as a bartender, didn't you?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, not everyone can be Altaϊr ibn La-Ahad."

Desmond sighed and wiped a hand down his face in exasperation. "Is this a roundabout way of getting me to apologize for sniping Shaun?"

"Hmm… _huò_…"

"Yes or no, Fang-Yi."

Fang-Yi just smiled and disappeared from the window without another word.

Desmond groaned and slapped his forehead multiple times, too tired to deal with emotional complexes and too wired to trust himself to remain civil if he apologized and Shaun sniped him out again. _I'll deal with it in the morning._

_

* * *

  
_

_

* * *

_

"You're late, Assassin."

Tavares smiled in the same unruffled way and inclined his head to the white garbed back he was presented. "Apologies, _Maestro,_ but it is no simple matter to come and go from the stronghold with it on high alert." His smile dipped at the corners as he murmured, "Which, speaking on the matter, your movements were too brash today."

"You're in no position to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Assassin."

Tavares crossed his arms and stared hard at the back that refused to turn. "Bold words and bolder actions knowing that I could kill you where you stand, Vidic."

"And my men would have you dead soon after," Vidic retorted evenly. "Don't play games with me, you won't win." He finally turned, hands clasped behind his back, and fixed Tavares with his chilliest stare. "What of Mr. Miles and Mr. Hastings."

"Your agents didn't do permanent damage to them," Tavares replied. "They are resting in a safe house sixteen blocks west of here and are slated to return to the stronghold in the morning with Fang-Yi and Anna." He arched a brow when Vidic continued to glare at him and remembered that there _was_ something the doctor wanted in his progress report. "Miles has made astounding progress under the Assassins. His talents are what we would expect of the Eagle's lineage."

"And?" Vidic prompted and he wasn't happy he had to do that much.

Tavares shrugged nonchalantly. "Hastings was stalled in his work, but Miles moved that right along for him. …You'd actually be happy with the bleeding effect in Miles – he speaks beautiful Italian and Arabic."

Vidic huffed and reminded himself that he _needed_ the insipid _Asesino_ standing in front of him if he wanted what he was looking for. "Is there any other progress?"

"No." Tavares always played this game with Vidic and it amused him when the doctor started to get flustered. "I told you that I would inform you of when progress was made, didn't I?"

"Yet you fail to deliver results," Vidic bit out scathingly. "You may think you have all the time in the world, Assassin, but we _need_ results _now_. There is only so much I can do to stop my brothers from moving against the stronghold – they're anxious knowing where it is."

"Then tell them to back off," Tavares returned smoothly. "_Señorita _Stillman is getting suspicious with your vultures hovering closer and closer to the stronghold and fewer Assassins are opting to stay there. If you don't back off, the stronghold _will_ move and you'll never find it."

Vidic scoffed; the idea of mere lunacy and he let the _Asesino_ know as much."

"When the Knights Templar accosted Maysaf one too many times, what did her Masters do?" Tavares inquired.

"They fought back."

"And when Maysaf was lost?"

"They…" Vidic _hated_ it when Tavares played games with him and he had to take a deep breath and calm down before he could speak without spitting venom. "They moved the stronghold and we never found out in the open again."

Tavares smiled and nodded in agreement. "Don't think that our _nuevo años_ foes will not do the same, Doctor Vidic. The Assassins have kept their strongholds small enough that they can up and disappear overnight if they take their time."

"Just go and inform me of when someone actually gets something done right," Vidic snarled.

"_Sì. _Until then, tell your _brothers_ to stay their greedy blades."

* * *

Despite assurances from the Assassins, Lucy couldn't sleep knowing that Desmond and Shaun weren't in the stronghold. He had tried to go out alone, but Seiya and Fang-Yi had forbidden it, going as far as to threaten to nail her feet to the ground if she tried to sneak out. Unwilling to test the fortitude of their word, she'd skulked around her quarters, reserved to worry until everyone was home safe.

After so many hours of doing nothing, Lucy had turned to her computer and her work, an endeavor that hadn't lasted very long. Bored with files she'd already pulled apart and reviewed, she'd turned to the second partition of her drive that held all of Desmond's secessions in the Animuses. Much of the material she had already seen and documented, but there were some sequences that never failed to either amuse or amaze her.

Those particular sequences weren't in the memory core of the Animus 2.0 and only she and Desmond knew of them. Lucy wasn't as good with computers as Rebecca, but she knew enough to program the Animus to stop documenting certain memory sequences, all in the name of saving Desmond's pride. The sequences were dumped on her private computer and into Desmond's consciousness and all anyone else ever saw was a harmless glitch in the system.

Lucy smiled when she remembered how desperate Desmond had been the first time he'd encountered his eldest ancestor's idea of amusement in the Animus. He'd begged her, almost on hands and knees, to overwrite the information so Warren Vidic couldn't see it and she'd done so, but with the stipulation that she could keep a record for herself. Desmond had called her a pervert but agreed to the terms; he'd done so again with the Animus 2.0.

Honestly, Lucy had wanted the documentation for herself at first. In the recorded sequences, she got to watch Desmond's ancestors wreak unholy havoc on their native lands and run away from the guards laughing, always unsure of what to make of the men as Assassins. But, to see them in private, when the mask of the Assassin fell off, she found Altaϊr and Ezio to be so much more endearing – more human– and they reminded her that Desmond would never harden over completely.

Altaϊr and Ezio had been hardened killers that reverted back to caring men when no one was looking. Lucy found it cute that only Malik and Leonardo could draw their lovers out of their murderous ways, each in their own unique fashion. Malik antagonized Altaϊr like no other being could and, through that, managed to needle Altaϊr out of any mood or parallel. Leonardo, always exuberant, used his art and machines to pull Ezio out of his head spaces, distracting the _Assassino_ and making him smile.

Lucy never thought those recordings would become useful to her.

The theory was all so bizarre and farfetched, but the more she watched the playbacks, the more she believed that she was right. If she was, it would explain an awful lot of things, both for herself and the Assassins, and it would up the ante between them and the Templars.

So, Lucy sat there and watched the same documentations she had seen a hundred times before, noting everything from movement to words traded, searching for the link and the answer that everyone so desperately wanted.

* * *

"Morning, Hastings."

"Morning, Miles."

Fang-Yi and her fellow guard, Anna, grinned at each other as Shaun and Desmond tried to maneuver as far away from each other as possible while trying to achieve the same ends. Eventually, the two reached for the same spoon to stir their coffee and the girls busted out laughing when they glared at each other, hand on hand around the spoon.

"I had it first," Desmond growled.

"My hand's touching it," Shaun shot back.

Desmond scoffed and got another spoon to stir his coffee before he turned to sit at the kitchen table beside Anna. "Stop laughing." He grabbed for a danish Fang-Yi had retrieved from the local bakery earlier and tore at it with savage voracity, apparently taking his anger out on the unsuspecting pastry.

Shaun sat down by Fang-Yi and did likewise, dunking a scone into his coffee as though it were an interrogation captive and not breakfast.

"We should go check the perimeter again," Anna suggested into the terse silence.

"Agreed," Fang-Yi murmured with a meaningful look shot at Shaun and Desmond. "We'll be back in half an hour," she informed them without hope of a reply.

She didn't get one.

With the _Xiōng Sh__ǒ__u_ and Assassin gone, Shaun and Desmond continued to torture their respective danishes in silence, neither one humble enough to initiate an apology. They did take measure of each other, to see what damages the last day had done, and there was no surprise in the twin bruises they wore across their faces. Other than that, there seemed to be nothing wrong with their injuries and they figured that no conversation was needed.

But, Desmond was a much more social creature than Shaun and he couldn't tolerate the silence for very long. That part –the being social– he blamed on Ezio. Altaϊr could hold a fight with Malik and refuse to talk to him for weeks on end, content with his solidarity. Ezio, on the other hand, couldn't go for more than a few minutes after a fight with Leonardo before he apologized and went right back to talking. From what Desmond had seen, he looked like Altaϊr and acted like Ezio and, in his current situation, he cursed the facts to hell and back.

"Listen, Shaun…" Pride tried to choke Desmond and stop him from submitting first, but his desire for some semblance of civility and conversation was stronger and pulled pride's hand from his throat. "I'm sorry for last night."

Shaun's stone face didn't crack, but he did drown a piece of his scone with a slightly homicidal look in his eyes.

Desmond knew Shaun was going to drag him over the coals and steeled himself for that, words Giovanni had once spoken to Ezio whispering through his mind.

"_Sometimes, it takes more pride and courage to admit you were wrong first."_

Shaun finished his scone with one more savage drowning and reached for another, presumably pretending the pieces were Desmond and the coffee was acid.

"I toed the line then ran straight over it until I couldn't see it anymore," Desmond continued haltingly. "I was just… I was furious that you thought I was useless to the Assassins and I wanted to hurt you back. It was childish and uncalled for and I'm sorry."

" 'Hurt me back'?" Shaun echoed.

Desmond almost felt like crying – now Shaun was trying to humiliate him too! "It did hurt, pretty damn badly, to be told that I do nothing more than sleep the day away. I know you'd never believe me, but I do more than tag along on some psychotic daydream and let everyone else do the work."

Shaun shook his head and poked a piece of scone he'd been dunking in his coffee through Desmond's apology.

The head shake was taken as a prompt to defend himself and Desmond sighed and put his head in his hands. "The bleeding effect is nothing compared to going through the memory sequences. I can _feel_ what they felt, the wind on my face and the ground under my feet, their anxiety and thrills… I _feel_ it when they're injured and it all feels too real to me. Sometimes I swear I can't take it anymore and then I have to keep going to find the answers we need."

"So if one of them was stabbed, you would feel as though you had been?" Shaun inquired quietly.

Desmond nodded miserably. "That's why I come out the Animus a mess sometimes," he murmured. "I could swear that I'm winded and bleeding, while my brain's screaming at me that nothing's wrong. I relive it in my sleep and sometimes I don't sleep just to get some peace."

Shaun was quiet, eyes fixed on his scone while Desmond practically crumbled into himself. "No one ever said that there was sensory perception involved. Lucy explained it as though it were a movie."

"Trust me, it's nothing like watching a movie," Desmond whispered. "I know your work is essential to us and I know it's frustrating, but I would kill for a job that just has papercuts and tension headaches for a hazard."

"I… didn't want to hear that it was dangerous."

Desmond's head popped up and he found Shaun still staring at his scone. "Huh?"

"I thought about what you said," Shaun replied, "and you were right. I don't want to hear that the Animus is dangerous and I distance myself from the Assassins so I don't hear about how dangerous the environment is. It's easier to bury my head in a book and, if I don't hear about the danger, I can believe that I'm just researching another aspect of history."

"Yeah, but I was out of line," Desmond sighed. "If that's the way you cope, it's gotta be done to stay sane."

"That is true, but how do you stay sane?" Shaun inquired. "If the Animus is that dangerous to your psyche, how do you cope?"

"I train, I fight, and now I kill."

"It doesn't scare you?"

"No, because it's what everyone in my family has done since the start. We were just made to fight."

"It scares me."

"Well… that's a _good_ thing. Means your normal."

"No, Desmond, it scares me because it feels _right._" Shaun's voice took on a desperate edge. "I watched you down those men yesterday and all I could think was that I had failed somehow. I felt disappointment because I hadn't acted and I _wanted_ to, _needed_ to." He looked over at Desmond with a miserable smile. "That scares me."

Desmond didn't quite know what to make of such an admission and he floundered for a moment. "You _were_ pretty spectacular in the getaway…"

"Instinct, sheer instinct," Shaun replied in the same quiet tone. "I could see enemies and allies and hiding places and I just knew where to go to avoid trouble. It… how can I explain it?"

An epiphany flew at Desmond with the force of a Major League baseball and he scrambled to spit out, "Second Sight!"

"Maybe for you, but not for me." It was a lie and Shaun knew it and prayed Desmond wouldn't call him out on it.

"It's an instinct though," Desmond stated, mildly excited for no particular reason. "It guides you and it tells you where and where not to go. The colors that represent hostile and safe forces… that's just an instinct made physically understandable, something the brain created to make the abstract concrete. You can't see those auras?"

"I said no," Shaun practically snapped.

Desmond was on the trail now and he grinned manically. "But yesterday, you honed into the same enemies I did, the same allies, and the same hiding spots. Only an Assassin could do that."

"And, as I said, you're the bloody Assassin, not me." Shaun was officially sick of the conversation.

"But you described the colored auras of different forces perfectly in your notes," Desmond pressed. "I said it was personal, better than second hand information written down." He laid his hands flat against the table and leaned forward. "You see with Second Sight, don't you?"

Shaun reared back with a scowl. "Drop it, Desmond."

Desmond's lips peeled back in a broad, toothy grin that Shaun wanted to smack off his face. No matter what sort of denials he got, Desmond had learned from the best how to sort lies from the truth and he knew from Shaun's tone and posturing that he was lying through his teeth. "I knew it!"

Shaun's head flew up as he rumbled, "Knew _what_, Miles?"

Desmond's excitement flew in the face of Shaun's sudden fury and he smiled sheepishly. "Um…"

Yep, Desmond had inherited all of Altaϊr's looks and all none of his ability to keep his mouth shut and now it looked like he was in a shitload of trouble.

* * *

Few things in life really made Rebecca happier than a room full of computers and unlimited access to them. There were other things she liked, but nothing could overthrow her love of computers. Her laptop was the first stop of the morning, to check her e-mails and beat out a few minutes on her favorite, off-the-clock MMORPG, and then it was to the bigger computers for always questionable fun. With Desmond out, she had no reason to play around with the Animus 2.0, but that gave her time to hit up the stronghold's security room and check on enemy movements across the Internet.

Rebecca grinned in a near-maniacal fashion as she plopped down at her favorite terminal with an energy drink and coffee in hand. The Animus 2.0 was fun to play with, but she just couldn't turn down a chance to sneak, hack, and undermine Abstergo from a good, old fashioned computer. "Time to make a mess," she chortled to herself. "First stop, the bank!" She cracked her knuckles and took off across the keyboard at speeds unheard of, checking the stronghold's accounts for the month to see how funds were running.

Any normal person would have balked to see a major deficit, but most people balked at the idea of calling Rebecca "normal". She _loved_ to see the funds in the red because that meant she had a reason to "liberate" some funds from Public Enemy Number One.

"_Guten morgen, streber_."

Rebecca yelped and her fingers reflexively compressed on the keyboard, her eye twitching when a bad password prompt came up at the account she had started to hack. She heard a chuckle and executed the hack again, patching through to a worm she had already set into one of Abstergo's largest accounts to order the program to filter money through the accounts the Assassins had set up. The money would eventually relay to their stronghold with small deposits in random accounts on the way to hide the money's bulk location and account owner.

"I think she was in the middle of something, _bruder_…"

"I see that."

Rebecca set the transfer and turned in her chair to find the stronghold's only twin set grinning at her. "I'm not a computer nerd," were her only words."

The elder _Attentäter_, Rainer, just laughed and replied, "We're that low on money again?"

"The Animus is fun to play with, but hell over the overhead," Rebecca answered lightly. "Not to mention we have to _pay_ you people for services rendered… Still think that's bullshit."

"You get paid too," the younger brother, Ehren, shot back, "so don't give us that shit." He sauntered into the room, weapons clanging together rhythmically in the relative silence, to sit by Rebecca. Aside from assassinations and intelligence, he and his brother were hot hands behind a computer and he was curious as to what had the other known computer freak pried away from the Animus 2.0. "Anything exciting happening?"

Rebecca arched a brow and started at Ehren incredulously. "Where have _you_ been in the past day?"

"On assignment," Rainer replied as he came to lean against the back of his brother's chair. "What happened?"

"Had some agent troubles," Rebecca explained, "damn well thought they were going to come through the door. We've also got some Assassins out now watching our terrible duo of doom."

Ehren looked back and up at Rainer with a quizzical expression.

"Who was out when the agents came around?" Rainer asked.

"Shaun and Desmond were."

Ehren looked positively enlightened and focused back on Rebecca with a sheepish grin. "I knew that."

"Likely…"

Rainer rested his arms over Ehren's head and fixed Rebecca with a serious stare. "Have you seen Lucy anywhere this morning?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Nope. Got up and came right here. Since Desmond and Shaun are gone, about all I have to do are security rounds. Why, something up?"

"We noticed a lot of agents in the area," Ehren replied, his tone moving towards gloomy. "We wanted to let Lucy know so that she can spread the word to any outbound _Attentäter_."

Rebecca ruffled her spiky hair and sighed irritably. "That's gonna piss her off but good."

"Why?" Ehren inquired.

"Desmond and Shaun are supposed to come home today, but I don't think that'll happen if those idiot bastards are still watching us." Rebecca grabbed her energy drink and swallowed down half of its contents before he dumped the rest into her coffee. "Did you notice a lot of agents?"

"There weren't many, but they were stationed in all directions, meaning no one can really get in or out without being seen." Rainer patted Ehren on the head out of habit and straightened up. "That's why we wanted to talk to Lucy. The agents aren't too bright, so I'm sure a couple of us can clean them up easily."

Rebecca turned back to her computer and turned to internal security, putting in Lucy's identification number to see what security checkpoint she had recently passed through. "Hmm… nothing yet. I guess she's still sleeping." She looked back at the twin _Attentäter_ and smiled. "I'll put out a post to the others and let them know to stay put for now and I'll let Fang-Yi and Anna know to keep the boys where they are."

"_Vielen dank,_" Rainer replied. "Come on, Ehren."

"Coming, coming."

Rebecca shook her head when the _Attentäter_ twins took their leave and reigned in the urge to bang her head against the keyboard. _Now I'm sure that they're closing in. Them hawking the stronghold two days in a row isn't just a coincidence._ The thought didn't set well with her, made her uneasy, but she couldn't do anything more than alert the Assassins not to move until someone figured out a way around their unwanted guard.


	4. Silence Isn't Golden

"Knew _what_, Miles?"

If Desmond knew how much he looked like Ezio right then, grinning sheepishly with pleading eyes, he might have been tempted to shoot himself. "Nothing… important?"

Shaun's expression went dead and he leered at Desmond over the edge of his glasses narrowly. "You interrogate me, shoot your mouth off, then claim it's nothing? You're as bad a liar as I am."

That damn roguish grin returned and Desmond poked Shaun's chest. "Ha, you _were_ lying!" he exclaimed, both to expose Shaun and hide his own slip as a trap.

Shaun gaped, stuttered, and eventually settled on swatting Desmond upside the head. "I did no such thing, you bleeding moron."

"Then why did you call yourself a liar?"

Again, Shaun had no defense but to glare sullenly at Desmond.

"So, come clean – you weren't just making good guesses yesterday," Desmond chided. "You saw with the Sight."

Shaun knew when his game was up and he had never been a man to continue on dead end paths. So, with the same sullen glare and tone, he muttered, "Yes, I did."

"Then that means that you're a descendant-"

"I am not," Shaun interjected sternly. "I've done the research myself and there is no trace of an Assassin on either side of my family. I don't know why I have it, but I know that I do and it's served me well in the past." He circled his hands around his mug, eyes down to stare at the pitch black –and grossly over-sugared– coffee that sloshed around within. "Besides, it's not like the Assassin's Sight."

"How so?" Desmond inquired.

"I've seen the Sight your line is capable of using and it shows clear aural colors," Shaun replied thoughtfully. "In dangerous situations, I only see aural outlines and my preexisting knowledge seems to determine how bright the aura is. You, Lucy, and Rebecca all have a stronger aura about you than, say, our current guards because I know more about you three. The agents show up a very, very clear red, but a man that could or couldn't be a mugger is a very dim red."

Desmond thought of the description for a moment, envisioning the method of Sight Shaun described, and finally nodded to himself. "Maybe you had an Assassin in the line somewhere and what you have is some sort of genetic remnant?"

"That is my best guess," Shaun murmured. "Though…" He debated over whether or not to hand Desmond private information (which he guarded zealously), considering what made Subject 17 so different that he was worthy of consideration where others weren't even given a second thought. He briefly entertained the notion that his consideration tied into the fact that they had hedged death the day before, but that was dismissed as too tenuous of a reason. There was a concrete compulsion to trust Desmond that transcended his natural mistrust for others and he finally decided to test the waters.

Shaun had trusted before and he'd been hurt badly in the end, so he was hesitant to repeat the experience. If Desmond reacted well, he would take that into consideration and if he didn't, well, it was no lost love in the end. "There is one thing I have that I'm sure you don't."

"Really?" Desmond glanced up from a donut he had grabbed in Shaun's pensive silence, brown-gray eyes glittering with curiosity. "What's that?"

"Have you ever looked in a book for an answer and had it jump out at you?"

"…Yeah, once or twice."

"That happens to me, but it's not an epiphany that makes the answer jump out." Shaun ran his finger around the rim of his mug and forced himself to continue. "I _see_ the answers; they appear bright yellow in the text, as if some sort of psychic highlighter was applied." And then he braced for the reaction.

Desmond was quiet, but his grin was unmistakable. "I've had that happen before. …It was a floor and some walls and not a book that it happened with, but I see things like that too." He finished his donut and finished his coffee before he explained. "From the Bleeding Effect, the first thing that rubbed off on me was Altaϊr's Sight and… well, when I came out of the Animus for the last time at Abstergo, I found a really unpleasant surprise. There were these freaky symbols and numbers and letters all over the main floor and in my room and only I could see them."

"What were they from?" Shaun asked to distract himself from his surprise over the fact that Desmond hadn't reacted as he'd thought.

"Our elusive Animus hacker, Subject Sixteen," Desmond replied. "He killed himself to paint the whole lab in some sort of warning. It was cleaned, but I still saw it once Altaϊr's abilities augmented." He shrugged and thought of an accurate way to describe how he saw such things. "It was like seeing blood under a blacklight after it had been cleaned away.

Shaun felt a spike of excitement that had his mouth running before his brain could catch up. "That's how I see things in texts… or, it's a very close representation. Certain passages or sentences or even words show up in much the same way. When you're in the Animus, that's how I can find the glyphs Sixteen left behind – they jump out at me from the images on screen."

"And that's why you're the scholar of the group," Desmond chuckled. "You have intellectual Sight."

Shaun knew Desmond was teasing him for being a bookworm and flicked a large crumb at the man. "Don't be smart, Miles."

"I wouldn't even dream of taking your job."

"…Desmond!"

Desmond grinned impishly and tried his best not to burst out laughing at Shaun. "What? I think it rude to overthrow a co-worker."

Shaun rolled his eyes, but didn't quite have the heart to quip as bitingly as he usually did. _Being out of the stronghold, being away from the Animus, it casts Desmond in a very different light. He's…_ The historian didn't even want to finish that thought, not even to himself because it would mean he'd get burnt when life returned to normal. _This is a small deviation and I will not let my guard down because of a temporary truce._

"Hey, what's on your mind? You got really quiet."

Shaun snapped out of his thoughts and offered Desmond a tight smile. "Just thinking, is all. Smart people tend to do that, you know."

"No shit? Huh, learn something new every day." Desmond leaned back in his chair and stretched as far as his side would let him, yawning loudly into the silence. He had no idea why they couldn't return to the stronghold yet, but part of him hoped that the delay would last a little longer. Like a particular ancestor, he gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and, though Shaun had showed him nothing but hostility until the other day, a very strong intuition forced him to keep giving the man a chance. It was the same intuition he had sensed from another ancestor whenever he had faced adversity from the one he had hurt the worst.

Silence fell between Shaun and Desmond then, pensive and almost tense with neither man willing to take the light banter any further, afraid to be hurt and unwilling to experience another emotional wound.

* * *

"Make them go away! Kill them, stab them, gut them, garrote them, poison them, but goddamnit, just make them go away!"

Rainer, Seiya, and a few other Assassins in the area looked at Ehren like he'd gone insane and no one dared to comment on the fact that a twenty-three-year-old man was having a _brat fit_ in the middle of one of the larger common rooms.

Ehren was perfectly oblivious to the facts as well and tossed one of his throwing knives into the dart board across the room viciously before stamping his foot against the ground. "I _hate_ lockdowns and I _hate_ being stuck inside and I _hate_ waiting for someone to get up off their ass and do something!"

One of the Assassins, Jared, leaned over to tap Rainer. "Did he hit his head on your last mission or is he always like this?"

"It's all him," Rainer sighed to the tune of Seiya's snickers. "Cork it or I'll let Ehren use you for target practice."

Ehren threw another knife, stamped his foot, and complained in what was shaping up to be a routine for the rest of the morning. "Who in the fuck is running this place, huh? We've got agents hawking the place and taking plenty of notes and we're just hanging out like it's happy hour! …Christ, at least if it _were_ happy hour, I'd be drunk and forget about this bullshit!"

"I believe that, if we stopped him, we'd find out how hard he's throwing those knives," another Assassin, Carrie, giggled under her breath. "Rainer, I think you brother hates inaction."

"Yes, he does," Rainer sighed.

"I want to kill evil people, goddamnit!"

Seiya saw the shadows stir the same time Rainer tried to stop his brother from throwing another knife, but the fates just weren't aligned in their favor.

Ehren threw another knife with the same form and voracity as a professional baseball player, a long and ponderous string of swears following in his native tongue. Right thereafter, Lucy squeaked in an uncharacteristic way as she stared cross-eyed at the beautiful silver and black throwing knife that had seemed to appear out of thin air a paper's width from her nose.

"Holy shit!" Ehren cried. "_Taurig,_ Lucy!" He darted forward to claim his knives and to make sure he'd missed Lucy, beet red at having missed the young woman in his fit. "Are you okay?"

"You think I'd be used to that by now," Lucy chuckled weakly. "Living with Assassins… I should really learn how to duck better." She patted Ehren on the shoulder and smiled at him, showing that she was just shaken from the close call. "It's fine, don't worry."

"You _are_ okay," Ehren sighed in relief once he could confirm that for himself. "Thank God… Desmond would decimate me if there was so much as a scratch on you."

"I don't think so, but if that stops you from using my head as a target…" Lucy laughed when Ehren paled and turned to the small knot of Assassins silently watching from the side. "So, Becca tells me that we have a problem outside?"

Rainer nodded and replied, "Me and Ehren would have taken care of it hours ago, but he pointed out that that's your call to make, not ours."

"Tavares is security, not me," Lucy retorted.

Ehren held his hands up helplessly. "Tavares is nowhere to be found, so we had to wait for you."

Lucy sighed; it wasn't unusual for Tavares to disappear to follow some sort of lead or mark, but did he _have_ to be gone on that particular day? "How many are there?"

"One for each direction, that's all," Seiya replied.

"And that's why we're locked down?"

"_Hai_. They're set up so that no one can come or go without them knowing and we don't know how many more agents are waiting in the wings." Seiya leaned forward, long blue bangs falling into his face. "We suspect that they're aware that Desmond is not here and they're waiting for him to return."

"Then deal with them," Lucy stated and her decision wasn't made lightly. Every time she gave a lead or an order to terminate a mark, she knew that the target's blood was ultimately on her hands as the guiding light for the Assassins. The idea had made her hesitate at first, but now she just resigned herself to another sin to answer to when she died. "We need Desmond _and_ Shaun back and I'm not going to hang tight until the agents get bored."

"The world could end before that happens," Jared grumbled under his breath.

Lucy's smile was tight and her eyes edged with reservation. "Go and report back when you're done. Seiya, take Aritaka and Ranmaru with you, make sure that there's no one else watching us."

"We're out!" Ehren exclaimed with an exuberant bounce towards the door. "Later, Lucy!"

"Bye…" Lucy sighed and brushed her hand through her bedraggled hair as she sat down hard on the couch Rainer had just vacated. _I work with the Assassins, yet I still can't comprehend how they can perform their missions with such levity… like they're above moral structure._ She shook her head and stared at nothing in particular. _Or… maybe it's the fact that I'm too bound by the moral structure that I can't understand their way of life._

_

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"You said you would have results by now doctor!"

Vidic chafed under the twelve reproaching sets of eyes that judged from him thousands of miles away and sprang to defend himself before he could be further insinuated as useless. "I said that I _may_ have results by now, depending on the rapidity of memory recovery. I have word from my insider that one is progressing slower than the other and we need both in our possession-"

"We need them _dead_, Vidic!"

Vidic blanched at the notion, the first time he had _ever_ heard the Templar conciliate mention _killing_ what he had strove so hard to preserve. "What good are they to us if they're dead?"

The man Vidic could only assume was the leader shot him a dirty, dispassionate sneer. "You had your chance and you wasted it. We warned you in the beginning that you would only be allow so many leniencies before we took matters into our own hands."

"But you are pushing too fast," Vidic snarled. "The insider has informed me that the Assassins are catching onto your plans merely by your proximity and I would hate to have to spend even more time trying to find them if they go to ground."

"Destroying the stronghold would certainly make the endeavor easier," a woman with a distinct Russian accent purred deviously.

"And draw unnecessary attention to Abstergo," Vidic argued. "I know that you are all very eager to see us through to the New World, but you cannot rush it! We lost the New World once that way and only God knows if we have another handful of centuries to get this far again."

The leader crossed his arms and fixed Vidic with an even colder stare. "What is your 'expert' suggestion then? Sit about and wait for them to slip up? The Assassins have _never_ made a mistake and we cannot wait much longer."

"Just wait!" Vidic snapped. "When that simpering woman Stillman took Subject Seventeen, she took the memory core of the Animus and wiped out the mainframes on her way out."

"She did what?!"

Vidic flinched and remembered that he had left that bit of bad news out of his report. He had attempted to recover the data, but he had learned the hard way that there was no way to recover information from a computer introduced to a magnet. "We have no record from Subject Seventeen left."

"When were you going to tell us that?"

"Never, I had hoped. But, now that I've told you, you should consider sparing the Assassins long enough for me to get what we need."

The leader looked fit to kill and his brothers and sisters looked just as displeased, each probably thinking of inventive and painful ways to dispose of Vidic. But, they were in whole other countries and he was safe in America, so they could do nothing more than wish that looks could kill.

"We will consider this turn of events," the leader finally sneered, "as well as your withholding information. We will contact you in a week's time and we _will_ expect results then."

Vidic inclined his head, forcing a façade of calm until the last of the projections flickered out and the lights went up, leaving him standing alone in a stark white room with nothing but the taste of failure in his mouth and a sense of fear in his gut. When the Knights Templar said they would consider disobedience, he knew what their punishment was and he was dread to think that they would do away with one as important as he.

But, they had done so before and now, more than ever, Vidic felt the press to complete his end of the plan before he was just another causality in a centuries old war.

* * *

From where Tavares stood atop a building in sight of the stronghold, he could have sworn his cell phone was loud enough to alert every single Assassin in the area of his location. Exasperated that he'd forgotten to put it on vibrate, he snapped his cell open and answered with a short, "It had better be good."

"Do not take that tone with me, Assassin."

"Ah, Vidic, my least favorite brother," Tavares chuckled. "What has you screaming after me now?"

"I have just spoken with the conciliate and they have decided to call off the encroachment onto Assassin territory."

Damn if Vidic didn't sound like he was lying, but Tavares didn't question the statement or its integrity. He was pleased to hear that the doctor had decided to call off the agents, especially since five of the eight were already dead and trackers were after the other ten stationed nearby. "I will recall what agents we have left."

"What?"

"The Assassins apparently didn't feel like staying inside today," Tavares chuckled. "We've already lost five."

Vidic swore long and loud and finally snapped, "Retreat and get back into the stronghold, report to me the situation when you have a _clear_ idea of what's going on."

"_Sì_, I shall." Tavares hung up and quickly entered a mass text to the remaining agents to pull out and regroup at Abstergo. He added a note to avoid conflict with the Assassins to the best of their ability and figured that maybe three agents would make it back to headquarters. _Just more hash marks on the wall. It's what they deserve for not having the common sense to question a clearly asinine order._

_

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_

With breakfast over and the morning waning towards afternoon, Shaun and Desmond had found themselves with nothing to do but sit around and wait for death by boredom or the Assassins to take them away. It was almost comical, the way they avoided each other, as if their interaction over breakfast had scared them into silence. That wasn't too far from the truth and they both seemed content to sit in the same room as if they were alone then try to strike up another conversation and, God forbid, maybe try to understand each other a little better.

But, Desmond's natural inclination towards conversation was making him restless and, though he had lasted a record-breaking time, he found himself having a very hard time maintaining the silence. He didn't necessarily want to pour his life story to Shaun, but he _did_ want to know the historian a little better since the two of them worked closely through the Animus 2.0 secessions. It would be easier for both of them if they weren't always snapping at each other, but how could he strike up a conversation with a man that generally took more pleasure in cutting him into confetti with words?

Quite the opposite, Shaun was very comfortable with the silence. He had found a comfortable position on the couch with a few more pieces of paper and a pen and he didn't seem inclined to leave his little sphere of consciousness. Whatever he was doing, he looked very content doing it, which he was. He was distracted by his work and that shut his rampant thoughts up, leaving a pleasant _nothingness_ that he easily sank into. Vaguely, he knew Desmond was growing restless and kept diverting his stare from the wall to himself, but he wasn't inclined to indulge Subject 17 in conversation.

"I'm gonna get a drink. Want something?"

Shaun almost smiled; Desmond had lasted an astounding three hours and two minutes without talking. "A glass of water, if you're so inclined." He titled the clipboard and kept his pen scratching across the paper. "Thank you."

Desmond sighed and got up gingerly, mindful of his side, to shuffle into the kitchen. _The Assassins should consider forced boredom on interrogation subjects. It'd make even the most stalwart man talk…_ He grabbed a glass from the cupboard with a slight grin. _Except for Shaun, they'd never get a peep out of him. Like someone else I technically know._ Memories of another time, unbidden and triggered from the amusing thought, rose up then and almost took Desmond under.

_Altaϊr__ shifted for what could have been the hundredth time and blew out a strained breath, storm gray eyes trailing across the room to the hunch-shouldered novice stoically ignoring him through means of parchment and quill. "Are you going to refrain from talking to me for the rest of my life?"_

_Malik didn't so much as scoff; his quill scratched in long strokes across the parchment, but that was the only sign of movement from him otherwise._

_Altaϊ__r sighed in exasperation and sat up with a grimace, his whole side screaming from a handful of broken ribs. "Malik, what did you expect of me? There was no way we could break through the guards and down was our only option. I thought you'd be happy to be alive?"_

_Scratch, scratch, scratch… Malik just kept at his work, though his jaw tensed the more __Altaϊr_ _spoke._

"_You are wasting your breath, __Altaϊr__," Kadar chuckled from where he sat at a window, broken arm rested in a sling against his chest. "But, be wary as well, for I'd bet that he'll find a way to throw you into a body of water once he recovers… Ow!" He rubbed his head ruefully in the spot where an empty inkwell had hit him. _

_Altaϊr__ growled in annoyance and threw a pillow at Malik. "You cannot be silent for the rest of our time here."_

"_Yes he can," Kadar sing-songed._

"_He's been silent for three days," __Altaϊr__ shot back. "No man can be that quiet for that long."_

_Kadar just arched a brow at __Altaϊr__ and stated, "The pain has taken your mind apparently. This is _Malik_ we're talking about."_

_Altaϊr__ sighed again and failed to retaliate when Malik threw his pillow back. Kadar was right and he knew it. In trying to bail the three of them out of trouble at the end of their terribly botched mission, he had broken two of Malik's personal tenants: First, no heights and second, do not assume he needed saving. There was also the tenant about not harming his little brother and the novice could only hope that Malik would talk to him again before he died._

"DESMOND!"

Desmond almost collapsed at the shout, his brain so tangled up in two realities that the sudden noise almost startled him unconscious. As it was, his knees buckled and he floundered to sit down at the table, trying to separate Altaϊr's reality from his own.

"Desmond, are you okay?" Shaun limped over, open concern on his face when he took in the fine tremor in Desmond's hands and the pallor of his skin.

"Thinking _way_ too fucking hard," Desmond breathed as he batted away the cobwebs of near-unconsciousness and shoved his ancestor's memories back in their self-made box where they belonged. "Sorry, I'm okay, Shaun." He looked up and felt another thrill of surprise when he found the concern Shaun made no effort to hide, taken aback and unsure of what to make of it. "You shouldn't be on that leg."

Shaun sat down and pulled his chair closer to Desmond in case the Assassin's descendant passed out. "You've been out here for twenty minutes, Desmond. That's a few minutes too long for a couple of drinks."

Desmond ran his hands through his hair and blew out a strained breath. "Like I said, thinking too hard."

"Was it the Bleeding Effect again?"

Desmond shook his head. "No… It's weird, but some things in my life will trigger memories from Altaϊr or Ezio's lives… It's like forgetting something and then having someone remind you of it years later. The Bleeding Effect is a lot nastier than that and I usually view the memory from whoever's point of view. These other triggers, they're a weird third person view."

"Do you always space out like that?" Shaun pressed.

"If I'm awake, yeah. If I'm sleeping, it's just like a dream." Desmond heard and saw the edge in Shaun's eyes and voice. "Why's that?"

"It just seems strange." And it was a lie, but Shaun knew it would slip under Desmond's radar with as scattered as he was. "You're fine now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Desmond felt a smile on his lips and shook his head. "At least I got you to talk," he stated in a perfect echo of words traded between estranged friends.

And, unconsciously, Shaun replied in kind: "Don't expect it to happen again."

* * *

It was clear into the early evening when word was sent from the stronghold for Shaun and Desmond to come home and both of them couldn't have been happier. The day had been uneventful and (to Desmond's disdain) quiet, but they wanted to return to familiar surroundings, done with the surrealism of coexisting civilly and equally finished with lounging around in bloodstained clothing.

Lucy's first reaction upon seeing the two was, "What in the name of God happened?!" She had expected injuries, but Desmond and Shaun looked like they had lost a fight with a wood chipper.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Desmond replied cockily. "Good to see you too, Lucy… Ah, ribs, ow!" He practically begged when Rebecca grabbed him into a relieved hug, trying to swat the young woman off of him before something punctured his lungs. "Lemme go!"

Lucy pulled Rebecca back with a warning, "See the blood and injuries, Becca, and the crutches Shaun is failing to hide? That usually means they've been beaten to a pulp."

"Sorry," Rebecca squeaked. "Sorry, Des."

"It's okay," Desmond replied once he got his air back. "How've things been here?"

"Some light house cleaning," Rebecca answered, "but other than that, nothing."

"Well, that's all fine and well, but I would like to get off my leg and get a shower," Shaun quipped. "So, if we can save the progress reports for later, I would be in your debt."

_And he's back to being a sarcastic son of a bitch,_ Desmond sighed to himself, though he couldn't disagree. "Yeah, I think I'm up for a shower too." He pulled at his clothing with a rueful smirk. "I'm tired of trying to guess whose blood is whose."

Lucy nodded and moved Rebecca aside. "It's late, so we'll talk about where to go next in the morning."

"Much appreciated," Shaun grumbled before he limped by the girls on the crutches Fang-Yi had instructed Ehren and Rainer to bring with them. "Ta ta, Miles, we'll do lunch," he threw over his shoulder.

Desmond couldn't help himself. "Isn't that what got us into that mess in the first place, Hastings?"

"Always the smartass, aren't you?"

"Nope, you're the smart one, not me." Desmond laughed when Shaun flipped him off before disappearing down the hallway that led to the general quarters.

Lucy glanced between the hallway and Desmond and finally asked, "How on earth did you two manage to survive for that long?"

"Nothing happened," Desmond shot back. "The Assassins were good about perimeter control."

"I think she means between you and Shaun," Rebecca clarified. "You two are like cats and dogs – we were more afraid of you two killing each other overnight!"

Desmond shrugged lightly. "We managed… mostly in silence."

Lucy chuckled at the scowl that crossed Desmond's expression and patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Well, go get cleaned up and get some rest. There's a few things I want to talk to you about in the morning and then we're back to the Animus."

"Oh, I can't wait," Desmond grumbled as he fished through his pockets for something he had written earlier with Rebecca in mind. "Do you think you can do me a favor?"

Rebecca took the piece of paper with a hesitant nod. "Depends. What is it?"

"It's something private," Desmond replied, in confidence that Lucy wouldn't pry later. "Do you think you, Rainer, and Ehren can work on that for me?"

Rebecca unfolded the paper and scanned over Desmond's scrawling handwriting, her brows slowly ascending her forehead. "Um… I guess so. Is it a big rush?"

"No, more of a curious inquiry. Are you comfortable with that?"

Rebecca smiled and nodded surely. "I'll see what we can do."

Desmond felt a wash of relief and gave Rebecca a warm, but light hug before he departed. "You're an angel, Becca. I owe you and the boys."

"After the shit we put you through, it's the least I can do to repay you." Rebecca spirited the paper away and saluted Desmond as he passed. "Sleep well, Des."

"See you girls in the morning."

Rebecca nodded and Lucy waved after him, both girls remaining silent until they were alone. Thereafter, Lucy turned to Rebecca with an expectant look on her face. "So, what did he ask you?"

Rebecca grinned and shook her head, hands clasped behind her back. "Sorry, Lucy, but Desmond wrote that, if I told anyone but Rainer and Ehren, he'd show me just how well his Assassins skills have augmented."

"But-"

Rebecca giggled and took off for the computer room, where she knew the _Attentäter_ twins to be. "I'll tell you this, Lucy: I think we were right!"

And that left Lucy to stand there in contemplative silence, a silly and slightly girlish grin on his lips.

* * *

**A/N: You know, it just struck me that all the formatting I've been doing as I'm writing hasn't meant shit when I'm posting. -___-' So, sorry that everything's been jumbled and (it'll take a while to reflect) I've taken measures to make sure that scenes are more clearly split. *slinks off* Mi dispaice...**


	5. Hop, Skip, and Jump

"Where in the fuck is it?!"

"Try one of the buildings."

"Which one?"

Another day, another round in the Animus 2.0, and more bitching and shouting as Shaun and Desmond attempted to collaborate sequences while Lucy and Rebecca monitored synchronization. "Just hold a second, you pushy wanker. Christ, you're not the only one working in the room." Shaun scrambled to access the hacked file Desmond had come across, sitting almost on top of his computer screen and waiting for that telltale flash of yellow.

"Sometime this year?" Desmond growled. "I'd like to remind you that I _feel_ like I'm hanging from an absurdly tall building here!" He wanted to let go of the ledge, but he couldn't or he'd lose the connection with the glyph, wherein he would have to climb back up and access it again.

"Shut the fuck up!" Shaun snapped.

Desmond kept looking for himself, trapped in the parallel of accessing the hacked file and Ezio's memories at the same time. He could see Venice under him and the file in front of him, felt his own agitation at being caught up by one hidden symbol and the reflected pain of literally hanging around. Were the capability there, he swore Ezio would have been bitching his head off too and took some solace in that.

"It's the foremost building!" Shaun finally exclaimed when the hidden symbol finally flashed amidst the grayscale photograph. "The Assassin's symbol, it's on the right hand corner."

Desmond searched about and sighed in relief when he found the symbol and unlocked the file. "Thank God." He let himself fall backwards, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness before he –Ezio– fell into the water below.

**Ezio came to surface and spat out a mouthful of water, feeling several pounds heavier with his clothes soaked and armor threatening to pull him under. All the same, he drifted onto his back and recovered from the climb up the viewpoint, an excruciating task that hadn't come without its rewards. He now knew where he was going, but he felt like uncooked bread dough and wasn't keen towards moving for a little while.**

"**Ah, what a beautiful piece of drift wood."**

**Ezio startled and righted himself in the water, hand around a throwing knife before he could register familiar, rich laughter at the upset. He pushed his hood back to move his bangs from his face and found the last people he'd expect on the banks of the canal, bent double in laughter. "One as knowing as you would take care not to sneak up on an **_**Assassino**_**, **_**amore mio.**_**"**

**Leonardo just sat down and grinned at Ezio wryly. "And why are you in the water, pray tell? Trying to see if drowning is a viable assassination method."**

**Ezio just pointed up at the tower he had leapt from. "This was easier than climbing down."**

**Leonardo looked up, paled, and looked back down at Ezio as he climbed out of the water to sit by his side. "And why were you up there?!"**

"**Looking for the right direction to go in," Ezio admitted with a sheepish grin. "**_**Venezia**_** is a large city, much larger than I'm used to dealing with." He glanced around to make sure they were alone and, once sure, lowered his hood and wrung his hair out. "So, what brings you here?"**

"**I was actually out looking for you," Leonardo replied and he reached for his hip where a pouch crammed to capacity sat. "You took off so suddenly last night, I didn't have a time to give you the finished page you brought me."**

"**Ah, **_**grazie**_**!" Ezio dried his hands off on the grass and took Leonardo's manuscript of the codex he had located.**

"**It's strange," Leonardo stated. "It's nothing like the others you've brought me and I'm almost certain the page was written by another. That and… the **_**autore**_** of that codex is a marvelous **_**artista**_**. Whoever wrote the others has a very technical style of drawing, best left for diagrams. But this one…"**

**Ezio had seen as much for himself and glanced over at Leonardo, a theory already developed from his study of the other pages. "In other pages, there was frequent mention of a man that worked closely with Altaϊr; Malik, I believe his name was. Is it possible that this page was written by Malik's hand?"**

"**Anything is possible, **_**assassino mio**_**," Leonardo replied. "All I know is that I translate them and pray to **_**Dìos**_** that you have a use for them."**

**Ezio smiled and wrapped a sopping wet arm around his lover to kiss him on the forehead. "Appreciated, as always, **_**amore mio**_**."**

Desmond heard something from Rebecca about Ezio and Leonardo being cute and he made a face. "Do we have any evidence that Malik authored pages similar to Altaϊr's, Lucy?"

"No," Shaun interjected before Lucy could answer. "Anything we have is from Altaϊr."

Desmond felt the familiar tug of frustration when he was presented with yet another open-ended lead and took a deep breath. He felt a headache from maintaining half-synch with the Animus 2.0 and, given what Ezio had been looking for, he would need total synchronization with his ancestor to avoid being ejected in the middle. _But knowing great-great-great-great-what-the-fuck grandpa here, he's gonna waste the rest of the day swooning over da Vinci._

"You can try to desynch all you want," Rebecca spoke up, "but you've gotta suffer too, Des."

"You're not friggin' suffering!" Desmond spat back. "You're giggling like a schoolgirl with one of those creepy Japanese porno comics!"

"Yaoi manga?" Rebecca snickered and thought. "Oh, those comics Aritaka gave me the other night… Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I know we're all working very hard talking about Rebecca's indulgences, so can we take a break and maybe do something fun, like focus on the sequence?" Shaun piped up in typical, scathing form. "I would really like a break, can we please, Lucy?"

Lucy heaved a sigh and a muttered, "Knock it off, Shaun," in half-hearted form. She was so used to the man's biting tongue that she rarely had the energy to do more than sigh at him. Besides, anything else, she had learned, riled him up further.

"Pull the stick out of your ass," Desmond muttered.

"Put one up yours and see if it helps your work ethic any," Shaun shot back. "Synch up proper and get this over with."

_And have to sit through this lovey-dovey crap? I'd rather fight with Shaun._ But, Desmond knew he had to synch properly and applied himself towards that, because fighting with Shaun would only distract him and ruin any progress the team had made so far. _I should be paid for this shit,_ was his last conscious thought.

"**Off so fast, Ezio?"**

**Ezio swept his hood back over his head with a well-timed nod. "Unfortunately, I must. Antonio is waiting for me and I merely stopped here to find where I was supposed to go." He tucked the codex away after saluting it to Leonardo. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, so keep the windows locks tonight. I do **_**not**_** want to find Rosa prowling around the workshop again."**

"**Says you," Leonardo shot back. "The woman is going to be the death of me, sneaking around like she does! Whose idea was it to station guards anyway?"**

**Ezio grinned and started off. "I'll see you later, Leonardo." He darted off into the crowd with Leonardo's indignant cries sounding after him and he knew he'd catch hell from the painter later, but it was worth it to know that he was safe. Safely away from a potentially harmful Leonardo and on his way to meet Antonio, his thoughts wandered to the codex tucked into the pouch tied to his belt.**

**He had only given it a cursory once-over and curiosity eventually pulled him to a sheltered place to go back over the page. Ezio knew Antonio would give him hell for being late, but he knew his focus would suffer if he didn't know what was so bizarre about the new page. "It sounds like Altaϊr's writings," he muttered to himself as he read.**

**But, the page was clearly not written by Altaϊr unless he had developed a fancy for talking in the third person and Ezio could surmise that he had been right about Malik being the author. Altaϊr was spoken about in far too familiar a manner and the Piece of Eden that was spoken about so reverently in the other pages was cursed in the page he held.**

"**It's bizarre, but not exceptionally so," was Ezio's final determination and he tucked the page away again, curiosity placated properly. "Now, before I'm flayed alive…" He smiled ruefully at the sure earful he was going to get from Antonio and considered it a warm-up for the chewing out Leonardo would give him later.**

"Lucy, something's not right," Rebecca murmured as her fingers flew over the keyboard. "It looks like he's desynching, but the computer is telling me he's still got a perfect rate."

Lucy scooted over to her other computer and her brows furrowed when she noticed the spikes in brain wave activity. The pattern looked familiar, but she couldn't exactly say where she had seen it before. "Try to ease him out, Becca. I don't like these readings."

Rebecca nodded and tried to start the eviction procedure, just to have her computer inform her that it wasn't possible at the moment. "Um, Lucy?"

Lucy had already seen the deadly drop in Desmond's reading with Rebecca's attempted interjection and felt a cold spike of fear jam into her spine. "I know where I've seen this before." The strange readings, the inability to remove the subject from the Animus… "This happened to Subject Sixteen."

Rebecca reeled around in her chair, eyes wide and face pale. "What happened?"

"He started jumping ancestral memories without prompts," Lucy replied, almost too quiet to be heard. "When he found one thing in one ancestor's memory, he would go to another ancestor's memory to reference or double check what he'd located. It… we have to pull him out."

"What happened when you tried with Sixteen?" Rebecca pressed.

"I almost turned him into a vegetable trying to get him out," Lucy murmured. "The first time, Sixteen was okay and he resynched with the right ancestor's memory alright, but after that…" She looked to Desmond and grimaced. "What in the hell did he find that would cause a memory jump like this?"

"Can you get anything on the monitor?" Shaun inquired, so calm it was almost infuriating.

Lucy and Rebecca shook their heads. "We have Des' brain wave activity," the latter replied, "but we've lost all audio/visual connection."

"Then instead of panicking, remember that Lucy's computer stores _all_ data from the Animus and find a way to reroute from there," Shaun stated, as if it were a simple thing. "If you know what triggered the jump, you may be able to stop it in the future."

Rebecca almost snarled at Shaun for being an asshole, but Lucy curtailed her and set her to work on the historian's suggestion. Meanwhile, she turned on the man herself with a look fit to kill. "It's easy for you to sit there and be irritated when it's not your sanity on the line – remember that."

Shaun flinched when Lucy's words echoed Desmond's and he threw his pen down with a great huff. "Is this particular instance going to kill him?"

"Lucy, I got it!" Rebecca cried before a fight could start. "He jumped back to Altaϊr's memories for some reason… maybe that page Ezio got from Leonardo?"

"It wasn't that important," Lucy argued.

"Maybe it was to Desmond," Shaun murmured.

Rebecca's fingers slowed to a halt across the keyboard and she turned an eye to the background program running, guilt stabbing her in the back hard. _Did something hit a nerve and Desmond wanted to investigate further? He could have asked me… He didn't have to do this._ She gnawed on her lip and ran the final synch between Lucy's PC and the Animus' computer to retrieve audio/video feed. "Well, this is weird."

**Altaϊr snarled as he hit the end of his lead, struggling harshly against the manacles holding him to the wall. He had a leash as short as a rabid dog's and goddamn the man that thought to give him so little room to maneuver. Nothing he did would break the chains, but he still thrashed about despite the blood and sweat that flew from his body.**

"**That isn't going to do us any good."**

"**We can't just sit here and wait for them to kill us!"**

**Malik sighed and shrugged lightly. "I didn't say that. I said struggling won't do us any good, not sit there and wait to be tortured to death." He looked quite calm with the situation, seated on the floor with his arm suspended over his head by a chain lead just as short as Altaϊr's. "If you calm down, we can think of a way out of this."**

**It took some doing, but Altaϊr finally managed to simmer down, but he refused to sit, to make himself any more vulnerable than he already was. "There, I'm calm. Now what?"**

**Malik looked around critically. "We will not be killed until they get the location of the Apple from us, so we have quite a bit of time to think of a way out."**

"**They'll kill us the minute they realize we would rather die than talk," Altaϊr shot back.**

"**Maybe you, but I'm not sure…"**

"**This is no time for jokes, Malik!"**

**Malik still smirked and stretched his legs out in front of him. "If we could rid ourselves of these rotten chains, that would make the rest of the escape infinitely easier."**

"**Entailing rushing the door and running for our lives?" Altaϊr surmised sarcastically.**

"**To that general effect, yes."**

**Altaϊr finally sat down with a heavy huff. "They will kill us, you know that."**

"**The secret of the Apple's location is going to go to the grave with us." Malik rested his head against the wall. "The Templars may find it eventually, but you said you already foresaw future generations retrieving it."**

"**Generations from a time I cannot even begin to describe," Altaϊr grumbled. "Clueless for the most part, some completely unaware that they are of my lineage."**

**Malik laughed and shook his head. "All the knowledge in the world and you fixate over familial pride? Someone must have accosted your head on the way in."**

**Altaϊr felt like accosting his own head with the way Malik was treating Templar imprisonment like a vacation. "What if they find it?"**

"**You said it would be secure where it lies."**

"**And I also said that it would be found again. The Apple refused to show me when, but I know that I saw it in Templar hands for a short while."**

"**Which leads me to the note you made about it being returned to the Assassins, by the Prophet, if I recall your words correctly."**

**Altaϊr banged his head against his upraised arms, his only recourse given the situation. "The Prophet will regain the Apple, but the Templars **_**will**_** get it again, in a time far after even his. I left enough clues in my writing that the next to face the evils of the Pieces of Eden should be able to stop the Templars before they bring their New World around."**

"**Then why the worry?" Malik inquired.**

**Altaϊr sighed and slipped Malik a smooth line of lies that easily covered what truly worried him. He had gambled on a vision and left clues behind for the descendant he'd seen go against the Templars and Pieces of Eden, but he'd never told Malik that he left the clues in a way that not even his descendant would recognize. **

"**Altaϊr, worry not," Malik finally stated. "We've both left our clues and done what we can to assure **_**future**_** generations. Right now, let us focus on getting out of here and helping **_**our **_**people before the Templars trample them."**

**Altaϊr liked that course of action as opposed to his plan of sulk and struggle and turned his attention from the fretful mire of his thoughts to help Malik figure a way out of their seemingly inescapable cell.**

"He's jumping again!" Rebecca growled. "How's he holding up, Lucy?"

"Stable, not stable, sort of stable – his readings are all over the place," Lucy replied tersely. "Becca, be ready to literally pull the plug."

"Is that safe?" Shaun demanded. He had since turned from his work to watch the unfolding drama and he would be the last one to admit, to himself or the women, that he was worried whether or not Desmond would come out of his memory jumping episode okay.

Lucy nodded. "It'll force the Animus to desynch. It worked with Sixteen and it'll work with Desmond."

"And we're back to Ezio," Rebecca announced. "But… it's a short rewind. Is Desmond controlling this or is it all a freaky coincidence?"

"I have no idea," Lucy admitted meekly.

Shaun leaned over Rebecca to get a better look at the screen, eyes narrow as he honed in on the same codex Desmond had just viewed through Ezio. "It was something about that page…" He turned to his computer and pulled up the feed Rebecca had going, scanning over the original Arabic script that Ezio had dismissed for Leonardo's translations. Left and right, answers jumped at him from the page, almost overwhelming him, but he could safely draw the conclusion that if he were Desmond, he would have gone memory jumping too.

"He's reacting to the desynch command!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Readings?"

Lucy glanced over and sighed in relief. "They're normal. Pull him the hell out of there!"

Desmond snapped back into the waking world violently, gasping for air as if he had just broken the surface of the water. His eyes cast about wildly and came to purchase on Shaun, who stared at him from across the room in a mix of seriousness and worry. Slowly, his senses returned to normal and his grasp on reality reestablished itself.

"Are you okay?"

Desmond glanced over and found Lucy and Rebecca hovering over him. He felt no better or worse than he did coming out of any secession in the Animus, but he could guess that his sleight of hand trick had freaked the whole team out. "I'm okay, sorry about that."

"What happened?" Lucy demanded, once she was sure Desmond was lucid.

"I saw that codex and it reminded me of something I'd once see as Altaϊr," Desmond replied. "It triggered the memory and I just sort of had to go with it."

Shaun saw the way Desmond glanced at him and understood that the switch to Altaϊr's memory had been a simple response, the mechanism Subject 17 had explained to him the day prior. He just nodded silently to Desmond and moved aside long enough to show the other man that he had the information he'd gambled his sanity on to retrieve.

"I think that's enough of that for the day," Lucy finally stated.

Desmond shook his head. "I said I'm fine. Let me get my head back where it belongs and we'll keep going." He offered Lucy a smile and patted Rebecca on the hand. "If I have to stop, you'll be the first ones to know."

"If you're sure…" Lucy didn't like the read on Desmond's vitals and she was wary of putting him back in if he was going to keep memory jumping. Of course, she wouldn't mention the problems with Subject 16 for fear of scaring Desmond out of the Animus permanently, but she would feel better if she could examine Desmond and the Animus 2.0 to make sure there was no damage or glitches.

"Okay, come on," Desmond chided. He could see the worry clearly on Lucy's face and decided to meet her in the middle. "I'll finish this sequence and then we'll stop, how's that?"

Lucy nodded and the worry faded a little. "That sounds good to me. Thank you."

Desmond laid back and took a deep breath, relieved that Lucy wasn't going to buck him and ultimately relieved that Shaun had gotten record of the two memory sequences.

* * *

"This has to be the most boring favor we've ever been asked to run," Rainer groused as he spun around in his computer chair. "Why in the hell is Desmond being so thorough. We _know_ the recognition software's going to give as perfect matches in three instances."

Ehren shrugged and watched the program work, eyes darting across the markers that appeared and disappeared on the screen. "He just wants to be sure, that's all."

Rainer scrubbed his hands over his face and sat back up to keep working at another computer, grumbling under his breath irritably as he hit another firewall. "I've come to the conclusion that Hastings is just as good with computers as Becca. His computer's untouchable!"

Ehren handed his brother a piece of paper. "Becca programmed all of the security in here, private or personal. She gave me the passwords and usernames this morning."

Rainer snatched the paper with a snarl; he had been beating at firewalls and proxies all damned day and his brother _just_ thought to give him the usernames and passwords?" I should kill you, you know that?"

"Sorry! I thought you had it covered!" Ehren exclaimed.

"_Ich hasse dich_…" Rainer growled when he finally got into the target system and started poking around for the information he'd been requested to retrieve. "Is that damned thing any closer to finishing?"

Ehren shrugged. "Sorta. The image Desmond got us is all cleaned up and the markers are placed on one image, but it's having a hard time with the other."

"Have you tried another image?"

"I tried, but these are the only two taken at the same angle, which makes it easier."

Rainer rolled his eyes and selected a group of files that looked vaguely promising. "Do you think we can get this done before Desmond's finished for the day?"

The younger _Attentäter_ made a noncommittal sound and kicked his feet up on the desk. "I'm not going to make any promises because, even if we get a match on the photos, we'll still have to cross reference from the archives."

"Yeah, yeah…" Rainer moved onto another set of files and paused, his eyes flicking down to the bottom of the window where the computer informed him that there were a handful of folders and files and a plethora of hidden files. "I'll be damned…" He moved into the file and forced the hidden files into the open. "Hey, Ehren, I think I got something here!"

Ehren rolled over to Rainer and arched a brow high at the video, audio, and text files his brother had found. "I think that's paydirt!" He selected a text file and scanned it over, a grin lighting his face up as he clapped his hands together. "I have no friggin' clue why this shit's on here, but that's one objective down!"

Rainer smirked victoriously and started a dump from the hacked computer into his own to show Desmond later. "And the recognition results?"

"Still working," Ehren replied. "Start looking through the archives, keep the search narrowed to the parameters Desmond gave us. By the time you're done, this slow ass piece of shit should be done."

"And what are you going to do?" Rainer demanded.

"Sit here and be your moral support."

Rainer pushed Ehren back to his computer with a short, "Get to work!"

* * *

**Failures were just piling up one after the other and it wasn't very reassuring to watch Leonardo storm around his workshop raving like a madman. Ezio wasn't happy that the flying machine hadn't worked as well as he'd expected and he felt bad that he'd curtailed Leonardo's earlier enthusiasm. The painter had been so happy that his machine had worked and Ezio had squashed that with the notation that it wouldn't get him anywhere near the Palazzo. He knew it wasn't Leonardo's fault, but every time he tried to apologize, he was cut off by a savage curse.**

**The afternoon waned to evening and all Ezio could do was sit around and watch Leonardo work himself into a furious frenzy. Eventually, as discussed, Antonio put in his appearance and Ezio got up when the man entered with word that the Doge had obtained the poison, meaning time was running short.**

**Ezio sighed and motioned to Leonardo, who had taken a break from his work to inspect the newcomer. "Antonio, this is Leonardo,** **the master inventor who built this... this **_**pezzo di merda**_**."**

**Leonardo's hackles went up again and he shot back, "Hey, it's not the machine's fault... it's mine. I've checked and rechecked my blueprints. It's just impossible. I don't know how to extend the flight! Ah, **_**che idea del cazzo**_**!" He threw one of several failed reworks into the fire and stormed back around in a circle.**

**Ezio was held in traction as he tried to figure out if he had **_**ever**_** heard Leonardo curse before.**

**Leonardo sighed and sat down hard in a chair set by the fire, eyes wandering to the print he had thrown away. His brows drew together and he jumped up in a flurry of excitement, proclaiming his own genius as he darted to a map on his desk.**

**Apparently, he had figured out how to make the flying machine work, but all Ezio cared about was the fact that Leonardo didn't look quite so angry anymore.**

Desmond felt the jerk of awareness and glared at Lucy the minute he fought off the side effects of desynching. "What the hell, I'm nowhere near done, Lucy!"

Lucy pointed at her computer ruefully. "This is getting dangerous, Desmond. Your readings are entirely unstable, very near breaking down. That jump put a lot of strain on your psyche."

"Let him continue."

Lucy and Desmond stared at Shaun's back incredulously. "What?" they asked in time.

"Desmond knows his limits and it's unfair to curtail him because of what a computer says," Shaun replied without turning. "He said that, if he hit his limit, he would stop." He glanced over his shoulder. "Unless you don't trust him?"

Lucy was floored by the true accusation and Desmond by the fact that Shaun was defending him.

"Go on, we haven't got all day," Shaun prodded. "Back in and finish up."

Desmond almost grinned at the way Shaun tried to cover his tracks and shook his head, making a note to thank the historian later for the welcomed interjection.

**Everything was set and all that was left to do is pray to God that Leonardo's idea actually worked. Ezio was still skeptical about the whole fire equals flight theory that his lover had derived from one floating piece of scrap paper in the fireplace, but, he had yet to disappoint…**

**Ezio sighed and shook off the natural anxiety of doing something astronomically stupid and almost had himself calmed down when Antonio made a very loud note on the number of archers about. When he mentioned the flight being short because of one of those archers, Ezio almost groaned and took a leap into the water to be done with this madness.**

**He could slip out of device and fall to his death, clip one of the wings on a building and fall to his death, an archer could puncture the wing or **_**him**_** and he could fall to his death, he could miss an updraft and fall to his death… Ezio just wasn't liking the odds on this mark and grumbled, "I wish there was some way I could use my sword with this thing," with a nasty look shot at the flying machine.**

"**Well," Leonardo drawled, "you do have your feet free. If you get close enough without taking an arrow in the head," and he very accurately mimicked an arrow hitting him in the head, "maybe you could kick them off the building."**

"**Nice," Ezio chuckled nervously. The only time Leonardo rubbed his own nerves in his face was when he wasn't happy, so it was clear that someone was holding a grudge against him for the earlier remarks against the flying machine. But, he did have a good point about kicking the archers to their deaths…**

"**Time is short, **_**amico mio**_**," Antonio prompted.**

**Ezio nodded and shot Leonardo one, meaningful look, a silent promise that he would come back and they would smooth over their misunderstanding with the flying machine.**

**Leonardo just smiled and jerked his chin towards the Palazzo.**

"Okay, enough!" Lucy shouted. She had been sitting there watching Desmond's vitals plummet and his brain wave activity skyrocket and she would be damned before she fried the man's brain just because he wanted to finish the whole sequence. "We're done for the day."

"Lucy!" Desmond growled. "Christ, why don't you try trusting me for once?!"

"If you keep this up, I might as well crack your skull myself," Lucy shot back. Her foot was down and she would trample anyone that tried to oppose her. "We're done for the day. Go find somewhere to chill out."

Shaun turned from his work and he didn't look happy. "Maybe if you stopped jerking him between realities, his brain wouldn't be on the verge of meltdown? Oh, but that's a novel idea, isn't it? It seems more amusing to see if he can keep up with which time he's in or maybe see if we can break a record for the fastest time putting an Assassin's descendant in a vegetative state." He scoffed and waved Lucy off. "You jerk him around realities, get pissed at him for wanting to continue, then you dismiss him as if he were a child? Fine treatment that is… I'm sure you picked that bit of hospitality up from the good doctor."

Lucy was across the room before anyone saw her move and she laid a good, hard punch across Shaun's face. "Get the hell out of here, Hastings. Miles, you're done."

Desmond yanked the monitors off and got up, ignoring the weakness in his knees as he grabbed Shaun's crutches and tossed them to the equally irate historian on his way by. "_Vanffanculo_, Lucy, _vanffanculo_."

Rebecca remained quiet as the door slammed shut hard behind Shaun, slowly turning to find Lucy glaring at the empty Animus 2.0 angrily. "Was that a really good idea?"

"What the hell do they know?" Lucy growled. "Next time, I'm just going to let him fry his brain. See if I care."

Rebecca sighed and ducked down lower into her terminal. This sort of fighting was really the last thing they needed, but she did find something very interesting in the middle of the drama that made her have to hide a smile. _Since when does Shaun, the resident Desmond-basher, defend him so violently?_ She almost giggled, but smothered it as she started shut down procedures on the Animus 2.0, her mind going in directions that made her feel a little better about the whole fiasco.


	6. The Other Codex

The Animus secession might have been stopped, but Desmond knew there was still work to be done and roadblocks to get around. Rather, it was a singular, Shaun-shaped roadblock, but he was a hindrance all the same. Desmond wanted to see if Rainer and Ehren had made any progress while he was under and Shaun was insistent that they needed to review the information he had captured from the memory jump.

In the end, Desmond had reluctantly followed Shaun to his quarters with the hope that they would power through the historian's findings and he could get to the twins before the day was out.

"Come in, sit down," Shaun bade Desmond as he made himself comfortable at his computer. "Nothing's going to bite you."

Desmond laughed at the jibe and looked around for a seat to grab. He found nothing readily available; Shaun only seemed to consider himself when it came to furniture and the nearest thing to a seat was the man's bed, which was surprisingly messy. _Come to think of it, Shaun's room doesn't look anything like I imagined it would be._ He had expected maps and cork boards and whatnot full of historical notes and documents all contained in painfully neat surroundings. Or, he had expected absolutely nothing, just four bare walls and spartan decorum, a room as bland and blank as its owner could be at times.

But, what Desmond found was a room comfortably designed for one and there were clothes strewed across the floor and the bed was unmade and the walls were a mix of posters, some historical, some entertainment, and some that had Desmond wandering across the room in awe. One wall, where a whiteboard full of Shaun's unmistakably beautiful cursive enunciated notes and the like, was covered in drawings, some small and some very large, in pen or pencil and a sparse few done with pastels. _He can draw?_ The idea seemed stunning to Desmond, that the stuck-up historian actually had a hobby –hurling insults aside– that he was good at.

_He's excellent,_ Desmond amended. He seemed to forget that Shaun was even behind him as he looked over the drawings, amazed by the clarity of even the fast pencil sketches. There were landscapes of faraway places, from present and past eras, from the never-ending desert and what could have been an Israeli capital to the European countryside and what was definitely Venice.

There were portraits too and most of them were from around the stronghold. Desmond recognized Rainer, Tavares, and Seiya, all gathered around a table playing cards (Seiya losing if the look on his face wasn't an indication), and a sketch of Rebecca rocking to her music as she worked over her laptop. There was one of Lucy at the head of a meeting, commanding and scared and assured all at the same time.

Then, as Desmond's eye roved over the drawings, he realized that there was a group of them subtly sequestered from the others. His breath caught in his throat when he realized that the drawings were still-life captures of sequences he had undergone in Abstergo. The drawings were from the memories Lucy had hidden for the sake of his pride, something Desmond thought no one else would ever see. But, several drawings were there and all too familiar to him; Altaϊr and Malik as novices, standing on the same ledge, staring at each other as they worked up the nerve to take the Leap of Faith, Malik and Altaϊr stealing a kiss, unaware of Kadar's snickering presence in a nearby bush, the two of them sitting together under a tree, napping after a training secession.

_It's like their whole fucking lives are here,_ Desmond breathed to himself. Everything, from Altaϊr and Malik's first encounters as initiates into the Brotherhood to their final confrontation after the incident at the Temple of Solomon, and beyond to what Desmond knew were their last days. How Shaun had gotten that sort of footage was beyond the Assassin's descendant and he wasn't sure if he was amazed or furious, impressed with the art or out of his mind over the fact that his privacy had been breached.

"Desmond…?"

Desmond snapped out of his reverie and turned to face Shaun. "Where did you get these references, Shaun?" He had to ask, had to know, before he jumped to any conclusions. He surmised that Lucy had either been paid off for the records or that Shaun was a hacker, two options that were not very likely.

"You look surprised," Shaun replied, unruffled by the glare in Desmond's eyes.

"Answer my question, Hastings."

Shaun shrugged and turned around fully, leg held out awkwardly in front of him. "I know Lucy programmed both Animuses to override certain memories, but I didn't hack the information nor did I pay anyone for it."

Desmond's face went flat – he hated how perceptive Shaun could be at times. "Then what the hell, man? This is shit only me and Lucy have seen!"

Shaun sighed and turned back around. "Can we please just focus on what you found, Desmond?"

"No, I want an answer! This is my… it's _my_ ancestor's life! I have a right to–"

"If your privacy was in some grand way breeched, then you are returning the kindness," Shaun pointed out in scathing tones. "Now come here, sit down, and shut up."

Desmond locked glares with Shaun until the historian turned and went back to his computer. _I'm not going to get shit out of him. Damn him, he's annoying! Defending me one minute and batting me around the next._ He huffed and went to flop down on Shaun's bed, looking petulant as he ground out, "What did you find?"

Shaun seemed totally unruffled as he brought up the codex page that didn't fit with the others. "As Ezio had surmised in the memory, this page wasn't written by Altaϊr, and he was correct in the supposition that Malik was the one to author it. Just take a look at it and tell me if anything jumps out at you."

Desmond could have made a crack, but refrained to prevent a fight from starting.

_After so much turmoil, the Maysaf is finally freed of that accursed Apple. As I write this, __Altaϊr__ has gone to hide the damned thing in the hope that no man will ever again lay eyes on it. I worry though, not for __Altaϊr__, but over words we shared before he left. He has seen many things in his time under the Apple's spell and it seems that the thing saw fit to give __Altaϊr__ glimpses of the future that pertain directly to its locations and possessors. He spoke of Templars having it again and the Prophet, which we have both researched and come to understand in our own ways, bringing it back to Hassassin hands, then of it changing hands yet again. __Altaϊr__ also mentioned a staff, which is a companion to the Apple, just as dangerous on its own and twice as deadly when paired with the Apple. Ponderously irritating items, these Pieces of Eden, and __Altaϊr__ swore that the Apple alone will bring catastrophe upon the lands if the Templars possess it in a time that he could not even begin to enunciate. I swore he had taken to madness as he tried to explain these events to me after he emerged from his seclusion and I am still not sure what it was that he was trying so hard to relay to me._

_He used terms that we have no words for, words that I cannot recall even if I tried. He tried to make it simpler and this I can write: __Altaϊr__ said that the Apple would fall into Templar hands in a time when the world had grown and many different peoples walked the lands. Our war –the war between Hassassins and Templars– had gone to ground and brothers from all over this strange world cavorted together in various strongholds while the Templars hid in plain sight in an entity that __Altaϊr__ said was and was not like the Crusader's monarchy. He said the Templars would gain the Apple from one of his own descendants, a captive Hassassin that could peer into the past with the help of a bizarre, unmoving beast. They would try to bring their New World about with an eagle made of ore that could fly past the skies, into the heavens above where there is nothing but blackness and cold._

_None of this makes sense to me, but I cannot mistrust __Altaϊr__. He has already created superb things from the Apple's visions and I must trust that his words on these future matters are truth and not madness. As such, myself and __Altaϊr__ have agreed to devise a system when he returns. If his words are correct, this descendant of his shall be able to see what we saw when Al Mualim was struck down, hence giving the Templars the location of the Apple. Alta__ϊr__ assured me that the Staff would remain safe until the Prophet walks the earth and it would remain in Hassassin hands until this other descendant comes about. I cannot say what he plans to do, but with a small, interesting piece of information he gave me, I intend to make it so that more than one person is needed to do anything regarding the Pieces of Eden._

_I want the clues where two people will have to see them together, a Sword and Shield. One to protect and the other to strike, just as myself and Alta__ϊr__ have always operated._

"Who was taken by madness?" Desmond muttered under his breath as he threw himself back on the bed. "Malik was talking like he hit the pipe too hard that day!" His brow furrowed when he heard something and his expression went blank when he realized Shaun was laughing at him. "What did I say now?" he demanded as he sat up.

"Altaϊr saw in the Apple what wouldn't be known for generations to come," Shaun chuckled. "To keep Malik informed, he would have had to put his visions into the simplest possible terms." He turned and rested his leg on his bed, uncaring of its proximity to Desmond's own. For once, he actually looked invigorated, excited by something that he wanted to chase. "Still, Malik wanted to leave behind clues for future generations and this was the start of them."

"How do you figure?" Desmond grumbled. "It all sounded like rambling to me. …Buuuut, Altaϊr making that guess about the Animus _was_ a little creepy."

"I've researched the Apple and I can tell you that what Altaϊr did was anything but guesswork," Shaun retorted. "You should know that."

"Yeah, that doesn't help us any!"

"The Templars have the Apple, as Altaϊr said they would," Shaun persisted. "And we now know what in the hell they're planning to do with it!"

Desmond roughed up his hair and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I'm too damned tired for this," he whined as he lay back down. "You're the bookworm Sight guy, not me. I see in three colors: Red, blue, and white and all I do is kill the red guys."

'_One to protect and the other to strike',_ Shaun found himself repeating. _The Sword and the Shield…_ Desmond did have a good point in his complaint – Shaun's Sight was geared towards the text while Desmond's Sight was geared towards the foes. _A warrior cannot fight without knowledge and a scribe cannot pass on knowledge to the warrior without his protection._ His gaze darted to the wall full of drawings, then to his desk drawer where several more were hidden from sight. His mind started turning over insignificant facts that he had lived with his whole life and he felt a spike of trepidation at what the totaled clues could mean.

"Shaun, hey, come back to the Earth!" Desmond snapped his fingers in front of Shaun's face and arched a brow when the historian startled. "You think of something?"

Shaun nodded and pulled his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I think I have a headache," he sighed. "Listen, the Apple was gained through your time at Abstergo and we know that the Apple has the ability to project total control over anyone in its proximity. Now, the 'eagle made of ore' that Malik said the Templars would use… Desmond, what is ore?"

"Unrefined metal."

"Exactly, and what 'metal eagles' do we know of that can transcend the sky as we know it?"

"Spaces ships, space stations, satellites… _Dìos mio_!" Desmond could _hear_ the facts snapping together in his head and he gaped in awe before he did something he probably wouldn't have done in a less excited state. But impulses were evil and he jumped Shaun, held the historian's face between his hands and kissed him full on the lips with an excited, "_Ana behibak_!" before he took off like he had the devil after him.

Shaun just blinked at the far wall, quite effectively stunned, as his brain tried to process the fact that Desmond had just kissed him.

* * *

After blowing up at Rebecca for her constant nagging over Desmond and Shaun, Lucy had retreated to her quarters under the delusion that the whole team was going to blacklist her for at least a week. They were all fairly task-minded people that tried not to let personal differences get between them and work, but she knew that they had certain thresholds and a propensity to hold grudges. Rebecca would come around the fastest and Desmond would follow in short order when he realized that time was just being wasted over spite, but Shaun? Lucy cringed at how long Shaun was capable of avoiding unsavory individuals and knew she would have to smooth his ruffled feathers if she wanted to get any decent work done after Desmond and Rebecca acknowledged her again.

_That was so damned stupid of me!_ Lucy berated herself as she paced the length of her quarters, working herself into a panic attack over her conduct. _Desmond has never gone past his limits and it was stupid of me to assume that I knew where those limits were. And it was even stupider of me to admonish Shaun for defending Desmond. I've only ever wanted those two to get along and now I'm sending mixed messages and…_ She slapped her forehead the same time someone knocked on the door and she had to laugh at the timing. _If only the hit were that hard._ "Come in!" she called as she tried to make herself look less worried then she really was.

To Lucy's profound surprise, Desmond entered her quarters with a shit-eating grin on his face, like a little kid that had been told Christmas had come very early. "Um… Desmond?"

"Templars none, Assassins, one!" were Desmond's first words and he rushed to clarify when Lucy continued to stare at him. "Me and Shaun were just going over the material from the memory jump and we figured out that the codex Ezio pawned off as unimportant is actually very important."

Lucy nodded slowly. "Okay, how's that?"

"Long story short: Altaϊr had once told Malik about the things he had seen in the Apple and Malik wrote down that description. They both knew future generations would get the message somehow and he was very, very clear on what the Templars were going to do with the Apple."

It took a moment for the gravity of Desmond's explanation to hit Lucy and when it did, her eyes lit up. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Desmond replied giddily. "I have no friggin' idea how we're going to stop them, but if Malik and Altaϊr were right, they're going to try to use satellite technology to broadcast the Apple's freaky zombie powers worldwide!"

That hit Lucy harder and her face fell a little. "Can they really do that?"

"If they can tell what size your jeans are from outer space, I'm given to believe that they were right about the Templar's actions." Desmond rubbed his hands together and asked, "So, what do we do now?"

"I… I have no clue," Lucy admitted. "We've been trying for so long to get the Apple back that we never quite discussed what we would do with it when we got it."

Desmond deflated a little as well, but brightened right back up when he recalled other key notes from Malik's codex. "Lucy, in the memory and the page, it was mentioned that clues to the Apple's current location could be found within the pages left behind by them both. It was some sort of check and balance system they came up with to make sure that no one person could take the Apple and run off like that nut bag Al Mualim did."

Lucy knew the look in Desmond's eyes and groaned, "You and Shaun have no idea what system they came up with, do you?"

"No, not quite. But, Malik did talk about a 'Sword' and 'Shield' that could decrypt the clues that were left behind and, when coupled with the fact that Altaϊr spoke of leaving clues for his descendants, we can easily guess that I'm one of two entities Malik mentioned."

"But who's the other?" Lucy inquired, more to herself than anyone else. "God, this is raising more questions than its answering!"

"It's a start," Desmond replied surely. "We're a lot closer to finding the Apple now and all we have to do is find this other part of the system and we can actually get the damned thing."

"Yes, but when are the Templars planning to launch the Apple, where are they doing it from, how well guarded is the installation…?

Lucy swept her hair back from her face and blew out a strained breath. "And where in the hell did they leave the answers? If they left it in the codex pages, then we need the pages and those have been lost for ages!"

"Don't you have Altaϊr's whole life on record?" Desmond shot back. "If we can review the files-"

"We need to finish Ezio's memories," Lucy interjected, almost tired. "He is the one that's finding the pages Altaϊr left behind-"

Desmond returned the favor of being cut off. "These pages were written by Altaϊr and Malik's hand, so we don't need Ezio to find the information!"

Lucy sat down at her computer heavily and waved her hand in something that could have been dismissal or a random gesticulation. "If you are that ambitious, you can try." She opened the drawer right at her knee and tossed Desmond a jump drive. "That's the backup – help yourself."

Desmond caught the jump drive and pocketed it. "Thanks. I'll let you know if we find anything."

"Desmond?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep this to yourself for now. I don't want everyone getting ahead of themselves on what is, at the moment, a very unsure lead."

* * *

Clever Assassin.

Tavares smiled as he tapped his fingers in a random rhythm against his laptop, dark eyes searching over the screen as it followed the progress of another bank of computers, his smile dark and unsettling as he studied the results for himself. It was irrefutable in his mind and he could only surmise that someone that was either very thorough or very skeptical had ordered such a time-consuming process that honestly didn't need to be done. If he could see in five minutes what a computer took five hours to do, then the inquiring party had to be very thorough indeed.

_Which means that Seventeen is starting to put the pieces together._ Tavares leaned forward to start dumping the heisted information onto a CD that Vidic would be very pleased to see. _ I'm hesitant to say he'll figure it out past this, but that he got this far with so very few clues… But, I would expect no less from one descended from the Eagle of Maysaf._ He clicked his teeth against his tongue and shook his head in honest amusement, briefly entertaining the trouble they would be in for if the Assassins actually figured out what they were doing. _They're a force to be reckoned with now. If they really got a plan together…_

Well, that would be the end of the Templar's New World Order, that much Tavares was certain of. The whole turn of events was rather intriguing to him and it was something he made note to keep a weather eye on, because there was no way he was going to be found on the losing side when the final die was cast. At the moment, the Templar's were winning and that was where his allegiances would lie, but he had a feeling about that one, seemingly pointless digital errand…

"_Verzeihen sie… HILFE!_"

"Come back here, you German son of a bitch!"

Tavares smiled and, assured that his doings were secured, wandered over to the door in time to watch Ehren run by paler than a ghost and shrieking like a woman. Soon after, a throwing knife followed Ehren and Desmond followed the knife, some form of paper flagging in one fisted hand. _Ah, I'm so glad it's quiet around here,_ he remarked sarcastically.

"_Es tut mir lied_, Desmond!"

Tavares laughed as Desmond flew past on near-silent feet and brushed his hair back from his face. Maybe he was wrong; half of the battle for the Assassins was getting ahead of the Templars and if they could manage that, the other half of the battle was getting everyone to work together.

Since Hell had a better chance of freezing over, Tavares felt a little more secure in his position on the winning side.

* * *

Desmond finally caught up to Ehren and tackled him flat to the ground, barely out of breath and displeased as he slammed his arm against the _Attentäter_'s throat. He heard Ehren's harsh breathing and the crunch of the paper in his hand and the faint thrum of music from a nearby room and realized that he was far too keyed up over one damned joke.

"Rainer warned me you'd weird out," Ehren breathed, "but not like this! I'm sorry!"

Desmond pulled back and got to his feet before he offered Ehren a hand up as well. "No, I'm the one that needs to apologize. You just… I have a thousand things going on upstairs and you just cracked a joke at the wrong time."

"So you're not going to kill me?" Ehren inquired cautiously.

"Not unless you give me a valid reason to," Desmond replied with a faint smile. "Really, are you okay, Ehren?" He could see a bruise forming on the younger man's jaw and prayed that he had caused no more damage than that.

Ehren nodded a point to the paper Desmond hadn't let go of since Rainer had handed it to him. "So, what do you think, Desmond?"

"I think I find it hard to believe," Desmond replied honestly.

"But you're the one who brought the whole crazy theory to us," Ehren pointed out, a bit hesitantly. "How can't you believe what you already suspected to be true?"

"Because it seems too damned farfetched now that I have some sort of confirmation," Desmond admitted. "I mean… all the clues line up and it _makes sense_, but I can't make it make sense."

Ehren grinned and nodded. "I get that a lot and I've learned that rolling with the punches is far easier than trying to duck them."

Desmond shrugged and looked down at the results Rainer had given him, still stunned that his theory –which had been a mere source of amusement until very recently– held more weight then he'd expected. _It explains so much, but this is hardly concrete proof…_ "Can you and Rainer run a trace?"

"Already on it," Ehren replied brightly. "There's a lot of crossed wires and convolution and bastard kids floating about, but we're slowly working backwards." He thought for a moment and murmured, "I think we're into the start of the Revolutionary War right now. If we're lucky, we'll be into the good shit by tomorrow morning."

"I appreciate this," Desmond sighed. "With some information I've stumbled onto, this crackpot theory of mine might be more viable then we all think soon enough."

"What information is that?"

"It's all tentative right now, so I don't want to jump to conclusions."

Ehren took that as the hint not to press further and held his hands up. "Then don't let me stop you. We'll give you a buzz if we find anything before the night's out."

"Much appreciated." Desmond patted Ehren on the shoulder as he swept past, backtracking across the security area with a wave tossed at a darkened room. "Hello Tavares." He grinned when he heard the _Asesino_ curse for having been caught eavesdropping and paused long enough to state, "You're out of shape."

"Funny," Tavares shot back evenly from where he was comfortably sprawled in front of a computer. "Should I be telling Rainer his brother was dispatched or did you leave something for ICU to work with?"

"Just a minor dispute," Desmond replied. "Catch you around." He waved to Tavares and headed on his way, eyes wandering down to the paper and his thoughts turning furiously over the recent slew of new clues that had lined up, all which ultimately ended in, _If this is true, how will it affect the war? Is there a reason or just another fun fact to file away?_

_

* * *

  
_

Shaun was still sitting in partially stunned silence when Desmond finally managed to return to his room, having been distracted by the smell of dinner and the revelation that someone had sprung for pizza for the whole stronghold.

"Brought dinner," Desmond announced as he kicked the door closed behind him, juggling half a box worth of pizza and a six-pack he had picked up from his room. When he set those things down on Shaun's desk, he looked to the historian with a wry, "Have you been sitting there the whole time?"

"I couldn't very well get up and practice my Riverdance routine," Shaun shot back defensively, unsure of whether or not to call Desmond out on his idea of gratitude. "What took so bloody long?"

"I wanted to talk to Lucy," Desmond replied as tossed the jump drive to Shaun. He omitted his dealings with Rainer and Ehren, but did state, "I had to do a shitload of maneuvering to get that from her."

"What is it?"

"Altaϊr's life in review."

Shaun knew Lucy guarded the Abstergo records zealously and arched a brow at Desmond. "What did you have to do to pry this from her?"

Desmond laughed and snatched a piece of pizza and a beer before he sat down. "I explained to her as much as we know and spent the entire time trying to convince her that there is real weight in this find. She didn't look like she really believed me, but she did eventually fork the information over."

"Well, far be it from me…" Shaun booted up the jump drive and opened the files, his eyes widening at the gross amount of information that had been crammed on the admittedly large drive. "Holy shit… Where in the hell do we start?"

Desmond had to actually think for a moment and finally murmured, "Definitely after Al Mualim's defeat – anything before that is useless to us. I want to say after Altaϊr hid the Apple, but by the way Malik spoke, he had been doing his own research long before Altaϊr pried himself away from the damned thing."

"But we have to assume that the cooperative efforts between the two came after the Apple was stashed," Shaun pointed out.

Desmond chewed on his pizza thoughtfully, eyes narrowed as he tried to find a decent starting point. "Maybe you're right… I can't say for sure, but the pages we've gotten through Ezio so far have been written by Altaϊr, presumably while he was glued to the Piece. Malik's page came after that… Gah, I don't know!"

"Don't get frustrated," Shaun admonished softly. "Proving vague historical facts is rarely an easy venture."

Desmond couldn't argue, since no one would know that better than Shaun. "So, what?"

"We know from seeing the codex collection at the Villa Auditore that there are at least thirty pages, most of which have been found and were written while Altaϊr had the Apple." Shaun grabbed a slice of pizza for himself, but stared at it reflectively instead of eating it. "All of his information pertains to his personal reflections and new concepts for the Brotherhood as they went to ground after the Templars."

"Bring the page back up," Desmond suddenly blurted out.

Shaun shrugged and did as asked, almost uncomfortable when Desmond invaded his personal space, close enough that he could smell the man's cologne, too close with the arm he had braced against Shaun's shoulder. "Miles, do you mind?"

"I'm reading…" Desmond seemed as oblivious as before to Shaun's discomfort and didn't move until he had found his answer. "Right here, we have to find the other pages! Malik said he left clues for two people and we can cleverly deduce that I'm one of those people."

"Because Malik stated that he and Altaϊr work together," Shaun surmised.

"Exactly!"

"And who is the other person?"

Desmond _almost_ blurted his suppositions out, but curtailed himself and craned his neck over to look at Shaun, fairly aware that they were almost nose-to-nose. "If I knew, I'd tell you."

Shaun finally shoved Desmond back onto the bed to the tune of Subject 17's laughter, a faint blush streaked across the bridge of his nose. "Then we first need to find the rest of these pages and then worry about this other fellow Malik and Altaϊr intended to tangle in his mess."

"Well…" Desmond knew he'd have to walk into dangerous territory to make his next theory, but the statement had to be made. "There is a chance that we won't be able to find more than the one page through Ezio and I know that Altaϊr never happened upon Malik's writings."

Shaun knew _exactly_ where Desmond was going with his theory and his face fell and his embarrassment evaporated in the face of stark annoyance. "Now you want me to assume that there is some mystical descendant of the al-Sayf line lying around?"

Desmond's grin spoke tomes.

"Desmond, here's a history lesson that you might want to pay attention to. The Templars knew the danger of keeping the Maysaf Assassin lines alive and drove them out of their stronghold, drove them through desert and mountains and kept them moving until they were slain by Templar swords or disease or the elements. That even one descendant of the Maysaf lines was found was against all odds – you are the last Assassin of the bloodline."

Again, Desmond's grin spoke more tomes.

"…Unless you know something that I don't," Shaun amended once he translated the grin to "I know something you don't know!". Then, he remembered those glitches in the Animus, Desmond's condition after coming out of a secession where those glitches occurred, and Lucy's odd fixation on her computer thereafter. "What are you two hiding?"

Desmond kept grinning and only interrupted his silence with a noisy swig of his beer.

"Desmond…"

Finally, Desmond said exactly that Shaun knew he was saying with a mere expression, "I know something you don't know!"

"Then tell me, you insipid novice!"

"I'm not a goddamned novice!" was Desmond's automatic defense.

Shaun smirked and knew he could annoy an answer out of Desmond. "Then stop acting like a novice with a crush and share information like a proper adult."

"And now you're calling me a kid?!"

Desmond's feathers were far too easy to ruffle and Shaun kept hitting the mark with merciless accuracy. "If it looks, acts, and speaks like one, then it must be one."

Desmond's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a thin line, his scar stark white against his tanned skin. "I was fucking teasing you. That's not an excuse to hop onto your throne of grand high dick-dom!"

Shaun almost laughed at Desmond's opinion of his aloofness, but refrained for fear that it would give the Assassin's descendant the idea that he didn't take offense to such menial insults. "You can be as abrasive as you wish, but I'm not the one acting like a child… a novice."

"I'm not a novice!"

"Act like one…"

Desmond slammed his beer down and rose to stand over Shaun. "Take it back, Hastings."

"I'm sorry… novice."

"Take. It. Back." Desmond poked Shaun's chest with every word.

Shaun was just having fun at that point and crossed his arms. "I'm sorry that you're a novice." He saw Desmond move and braced for a hit, muscles coiled to send the other man sprawling backwards.

What resulted was a mess.

Desmond had taken the less mature route and slathered Shaun's face with an untouched slice of pizza while Shaun reacted and shoved Desmond backwards. Reflexively, Desmond grabbed Shaun as he fell, taking the historian with him as he hit the bed with a small bounce.

Anger, mirth, and all traces of teasing evaporated when both of them realized that they were in a _highly_ compromising position and that their faces were just a little too close for comfort.

"…Um…" Desmond floundered; brown-gray eyes locked with Shaun's deep brown, face a startling shade of red. He could sense something wrong in the atmosphere, something that felt like a threat but didn't look like one; it felt like the balance was about to be upset. "Shaun, sorry–"

Shaun grabbed Desmond's t-shirt, cutting his apology off with a thoughtless kiss that closely mimicked Desmond's overzealous move not that long ago and that single move officially shifted the balance in a way neither one could even begin to understand.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay with the new chapter; the semester started and God help me if an avalanche of homework didn't hit me! That is also a hint that updates may be slower for a while, at least until I get back into a schedule and settle into my classes.**

**Oh, and to TheLonelyApparition: "Vanffanculo" is the Italian word for "fuck" or "fuck you".  
**


	7. Fact is Stranger than Fiction

"What in the hell are you two doing?"

Rainer and Ehren hunkered down into their computers and minimized all active windows before they slowly turned, in perfect synch, to smile none too comfortingly at Fang-Yi. "Nothing," they replied in time.

Fang-Yi grinned and wagged her finger at the _Attentäter _twins and sauntered over to sit in an unoccupied chair. "Maybe you two didn't do your homework when you were told to, but my people have a very peculiar to _see_ when people are lying."

"We're not lying!"

"Well, when I walked in, you two were a nice blue color and now you're a pretty purple," Fang-Yi retorted. "You can't fool the Sight, something you two should know by now." She set her chin on her fists and asked, "So, what're you guys doing?"

Rainer and Ehren exchanged unsure glances; if they lied to the _Xiōng Sh__ǒ__u_, she would just continue to dog them, and if they told the truth, Desmond would kill them. Either way, they were facing death and they were pretty sure that they feared Desmond far more than Fang-Yi. "We are doing some research as a favor to a friend," Rainer hedged, to try and throw off Fang-Yi's Sight because he wasn't _technically_ lying.

"What kind of research?" Fang-Yi pressed.

"Research of the personal assortment," Ehren replied once he caught onto his brother's line of thinking.

Fang-Yi was used to people trying to edge around her Sight and had been trained extensively from birth in ways of extrapolating information from unwilling individuals. "Is it for the Assassins?"

"Yes," Rainer answered, more confident and completely unaware.

"For _a_ Assassin or for _an_ Assassin?"

"A singular Assassin."

Fang-Yi smiled and titled her head, sizing up the twins before she asked, "Is it for someone I know?"

"…Yes." Ehren sounded a little less sure than Rainer.

"Is this singular Assassin male or female?"

"Male."

"Young or old?"

"Young."

_She's doing this on purpose_, Ehren sing-songed to himself.

"Tall or short?"

"Tall-ish."

"Dark or light hair and eyes?"

"Dark hair and eyes."

Ehren hid his face in his hands, sensing that Fang-Yi was moving in for the kill.

"Scars?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

Rainer fumbled, Ehren groaned, and Fang-Yi started laughing hystically. "It's for Desmond, isn't it?" she finally wheezed out, pleased that she had so thoroughly outwitted Rainer.

"…Yes," Rainer muttered, his head hung as he heard his death bell toll. _Desmond is going to kill me for this._ "Now please, he asked us to keep it to ourselves and he'll destroy us if he finds out even one other person knows!"

Fang-Yi reached over to pat Rainer on the shoulder after she calmed down. "Don't worry, I was going to ask if you guys needed some help. You've been in here all day and I have nothing to do."

Ehren shook his head. "I'm sorry, Fang, but we'd really like to see our next birthdays."

Fang-Yi pouted and put her fist back on her fists. "But I'm really very good at genealogy!"

"We're dead," Ehren groaned.

Fang-Yi shook her head and scooted her chair over to sit between the _Attentäter _twins. "When Desmond was first taken by Abstergo, Lucy had to ascertain whether or not he was really a Maysaf descendant. If I could trace Desmond _aaaaall_ the way back to Altaϊr, then I think I can help you guys here!"

"She did get Lucy the information quickly," Rainer had to admit. "And Desmond might appreciate that."

"He'd definitely appreciate that," Ehren agreed. "You'll be perfectly silent, Fang?"

Fang-Yi nodded with an enthusiastic grin. "I just need the name of the person being researched and some room to work!"

"Eh, what can it hurt?" Rainer handed Fang-Yi the information Desmond had given them and brought the task panes back up on his computer, motioning for Ehren to do the same. "Show us what you've got."

* * *

Silence stretched out as far as the event horizon of a black hole, time stretched out and held to the breaking point like a rubber band that eventually snapped back.

Desmond scrambled to get away from Shaun, shuffling across the bed and almost off the edge, wide-eyed and breathing hard, unconsciously licking his lips as Shaun tried to right himself. "What. The. Fuck?" he finally spluttered, looking very much like a caged, frightened animal. "Where did that come from, Hastings?"

Shaun managed to sit upright again without his broken leg tangled under him and righted his crooked glasses. "I could have asked you the same thing when you darted out of here."

"I… I…" Desmond went beet red and ducked his head as if he were trying to disappear into his shirt. "I was overexcited, okay?"

"And I was opportunistic."

"But… but I…" Desmond scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, some sort of reaction to something he had never wanted to acknowledge. "You… I… uh…"

_Altaϊr was a confident man that never miced words or showed an ounce of weakness, yet he looked like a thief caught with a vendor's goods as he stared at Malik from across the room. "I… you… what the…?" he finally got out._

_Malik shrugged and crossed his arms, looking painfully smug. "Is that how I silence your never-ending tongue?"_

"_But…" Altaϊr kept floundering, not exactly sure of what had happened or why or why _him_. "Why did you…" His brain finally kicked into some semblance of gera and he spat out, "You chastise _me_ for breaking tenants?!"_

"_You act as though I tried to kill you, Altaϊr," Malik returned evenly, ever unshakable in the face of extreme adversity. _

"_Worse – you kissed me!"_

"_Yes, refreshing honesty, isn't it?"_

"Are you going to say something or are you going to keep stuttering?" Shaun inquired in measured, even tones.

"You kissed me!" Desmond felt proud that he'd managed to get out another whole sentence without stuttering.

"And, as I said, you kissed me."

"This isn't a fucking joke!"

"I'm not treating it like one."

Desmond stood up and ran his hands over his face, scrubbing vigorously as he groaned long and loud into the silence. "What in the hell inspired you to do that?!"

"I hate repeating myself, you know that," Shaun stated evenly. He treated the whole incident like it was a passing fancy while he staunchly ignored the fact that the impulse had been there for too long, festering under the surface until it couldn't be ignored any longer.

"But… We're coworkers!"

"And this is not a nine to five job." Shaun shifted slightly and asked, "Would you sooner act like nothing happened?"

"Yes!" Desmond completely missed the flash of hurt in Shaun's eyes or he didn't want to acknowledge it. "I want to pretend it never happened, eat my dinner, and plow through this crap we got hit with!"

Shaun shrugged and moved back to his computer chair where he used a napkin to wipe his face clean of the remnants of Desmond's opening attack. "I can do that."

"_Bene_," Desmond breathed, "_va bene_." He felt a twist in his gut that he only experienced when something was wrong, either by his design or another's. But, he was so frazzled and shocked that he ignored it and sat down on the other side of the bed, reaching for his beer to finish the rest of it off in damn near one gulp. He reached for another and muttered something about needing to grab the hard liquor from his room.

Shaun ignored the comment and easily returned to their conversation before they had digressed. "Where are you suggesting we find another Maysaf descendant?"

Desmond swallowed hard and cradled his head in his hand, too aware of past events and the trouble reacting like he and one other had caused. "We'll find one – the Templars couldn't have wiped them all out."

"As I said, finding you was a miracle," Shaun stated. "I believe the only reason Altaϊr's line continued was because his heirs were bastards that were trained outside of Maysaf."

Desmond knew that Shaun would continue to insist on there being one Maysaf Assassin left in the world and decided that he couldn't hide his findings forever, that he needed as many people on the same page as possible to make plans go forward. "Shaun, I _know_ there is another descendant in the Brotherhood."

"Then who?" Shaun pressed.

"I don't think you'd believe me without hard evidence."

"No, I wouldn't."

Desmond sighed and kept his head down as he thought of a way to lead Shaun into making the deduction by himself. "You had asked me if I wanted you to 'assume that there is some mystical descendant of the al-Sayf line lying around'. When on earth did I mention Malik's line specifically?"

Caught; Shaun floundered and recovered within admirable time. "I made the conclusion from the fact that you keep hammering at Malik and Altaϊr's work."

Desmond reached into his back pocket for the results he'd gotten thusfar to hand them over. "I'm waiting on further information, the hard evidence, but I have circumstantial evidence right now."

Shaun took the paper with care not to brush hands with Desmond and leaned back to peruse results from a program he couldn't quite place the name of. Most of the numbers meant nothing to him, but the two images stacked one on top of the other and the words, "89% positive match" meant volumes. "What is this, Miles?"

"Next page," Desmond murmured, waiting for the historian's wrath to come down on him.

Shaun flipped to the next page to find it was in Desmond's jagged manuscript, with more margin notes and annotations and arrows then a pirate map. But, he was used to solving textual puzzles and got what he needed from Subject 17's atrocious note-taking abilities.

_Originating line has the standard red, blue, white ability to discern friend from foe from place to hide and the ability to see answers in text and hear answers as well. The original addition of skills was described as being a yellow aura around the answers from a text and a slight increase in the pitch of a speaker's voice when they divulged a wanted answer. Of all of these abilities, I only know one person with each and every one… except the last ability, which I can't very well walk up to him and ask about without raising suspicion._

_I need more proof, but if my Sight abilities are the same as Altaϊr and Ezio's and I am their descendant, then I can cleverly deduce that…_

"You think _I'm_ a descendant?" was Shaun's incredulous inquiry. "Were you drinking when you wrote this?"

Desmond shook his head. "I was very, very sober."

Shaun tossed the papers on his desk in a total state of denial. "You're starkers, Miles, absolutely off your rocker insane! Where did you get the notion-"

Desmond's soft voice interjected. "When you talk to people, trying to find an answer to a question, do you hear that increase in pitch?"

Shaun paused, then nodded.

"Your abilities… your _Sight_ are identical to Malik's. There is an almost ninety percent positive match from the facial recognition software and I know I'm going to get proof from your family lines."

"I can't trace them!" Shaun practically snarled. "So I doubt that you can!"

Desmond fisted his hands into the comforter and steeled himself to be patient, reminding himself that he hadn't been so easy to handle when he'd been told he was an Assassin's descendant either. "I will get you the rest of the proof, Shaun, but you have to believe me." He looked up, desperation darkening his eyes. "Believe me."

"How can I?"

"I know shit that you don't."

"Like?"

"Altaϊr and Malik entered a pact at some point. They refused to leave each other and they knew they couldn't let their bloodlines die… They had survived their opening of their lives as bastard orphands and knew their children would be strong enough to survive to the Brotherhood as well. Trust me, I know all too well that Altaϊr assured the bloodlines."

"There is nothing saying Malik would as well," Shaun argued and it sounded weak even to him.

"Altaϊr was the 'sword' and Malik the 'shield' and they left behind clues for a similar set." Desmond finished the rest of his beer and studied the empty bottle idly. "We fight, we argue, we bicker, we scrap, and we feud, but we work together. You give me information and I act on it, just like they did. You can see the clues and I can see the enemies… Goddamnit it, if you stop denying it, it makes sense!"

Shaun didn't want to hear it and shut Desmond down hard. "I cannot and will not indulge you in your asinine flights of fancy, Miles. I don't know if the Bleeding Effect is starting to show its madness in you-"

Desmond had to stay the urge to hit Shaun and simply got up, his throat tight and his fists tighter as he stormed past Shaun. _It's only fair, it's only fair, it's only fair…_

Desmond had hurt Shaun in demanding they act like nothing had happened between them and Shaun had hurt Desmond back by denying him reason and dredging up his darkest fear.

* * *

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…" Ehren's head looked like it might snap clear off his shoulders with the way he kept looking between the computer screen and Fang-Yi. "Am I really fucking seeing this?"

Rainer nodded. "We both are or we both went insane at the exact same time."

Fang-Yi sat back with a bright smile, surveying the extensive and detailed family history she had managed to compile. "You've got the standard family tree, where the line went to ground and back to surface, everything!" She was proud of herself and was bolstered by the way Rainer and Ehren just stared at her and her work. "Unrivaled, I'm tellin' ya!"

"This is fantastic," Rainer murmured. "We definitely owe you, Fang. This is… We could never compile something this advanced so quickly."

Fang-Yi shrugged nonchalantly; genealogy was her hobby and it was a benefit that she happened to have a natural talent for it, making her work seem less like a task and more like fun. "So, all done! …You want a printer-friendly version?"

Ehren let Rainer answer as he actually started to look over the family tree to find an unsettling pattern that all traced back to the most recent source. "Most parents survived to a decent age, but all but one sibling survives in most generations."

"One could say it is the cycle of reincarnation or karma or one of a thousand other things, but every Assassin from every line has one thing in common with their ancestors. Take Desmond and Ezio for example: They both have a scar in the same area as Altaϊr, though the scars were wrought by different means and there are distinctly… individual to each descendant."

"So some siblings lived longer than others and some were passed over all together." Ehren shuttered at the thought, his mind wandering towards the concept of having Rainer for so long, just to lose him to some stupid trick of fate. "Can we get a profile?"

"On who?" Fang-Yi asked.

"Shaun."

Fang-Yi nodded and pulled up another window to show she had already constructed one. "The mother was an Assassin, the father a simple industrial worker who, as you see, died in an accident. I couldn't find too much information, but I put in a request with the Liverpool stronghold to see if they have any information on his Mom."

"You think she might have tried to raise her sons as Assassins?" Rainer guessed.

"Might explain Shaun's motives, all research and no violence." Fang-Yi sat back and crossed her arms. "Officially, it was stated that his little brother and Mom were killed in an accident that he just survived, but… I looked up the date of the accident and it coincided too closely with a clash between the local Assassin group and the Templars." She looked to Rainer, then Ehren. "I don't know many car accidents that cause 'stab-like wounds' and I sure as _hell_ have never heard of gun shot wounds in accidents."

Ehren sighed and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his bangs back from his face. "And I thought we had fucked up childhoods."

"At least we had a family and a clue," Fang-Yi pointed out gently. "From what you two told me, Desmond is doing this behind Shaun's back, which leads me to believe that the man doesn't have a single clue that he's a Maysaf Assassin." Her expression darkened a little as she murmured, "This is going to change things drastically, we all know that, right?"

"I don't see how," Rainer replied. "So, we have another Maysaf descendant, big whoop!"

Fang-Yi shook her head and closed down the programs so that she could load the information onto a jump drive for the twins. "Let me see if I remember the whole thing…" She thought back on her lessons as a child, those that entailed the philosophy and history of the Assassins in general. " 'One will walk the path of righteous vengeance in lands far to the east and by his hand shall the tides of the war change, as only his hand can set into motion his role as the Prophet and send word of the great calamity to a time beyond compare. These words will echo on deaf ears until the time of the Eagle and the Jackal and it will be upon the back of the Eagle that the new war is waged and the tides again changed. Should the Jackal partake of holy war, those of the Creed shall see their ends met and should the Jackal shy from the blade, the world will know suffering and its end'."

"And that's just a paraphrase?" Ehren chided.

Fang-Yi sighed and rolled her eyes. "Altaϊr was called the Eagle and Malik the Jackal. The prophesy handed down by my people states that the whole tide of this war depends on the Jackal when they are in the same time together."

Rainer let the implication sink in, then let his head hit the desk. "We have to gamble our lives on Hastings?"

"I'm sorry to say."

"We're fucked."

* * *

The next morning saw fit for Lucy to apologize for her outburst and the fates saw fit to put Rebecca, the most forgiving, in front of her first. When she entered the Animus 2.0's room, she found the young hacker quietly performing daily PM on the machine and had to screw up her courage before she blurted out, "I'm sorry for yesterday, Becca."

Rebecca finished setting up the diagnostic scans before she turned and flashed Lucy a smile. "Don't worry, Luc. We're all stressed out and we all tend to snap when we hit the end of our rope." She reached into a box beside her and pulled out a donut. "Breakfast?"

Lucy smiled and declined with a shake of her head, relieved that Rebecca really wasn't going to hold a grudge against her. "So, everything okay with the Animus?"

"Yep, just doing some peripheral diags and we'll be good to go!" Rebecca took a whopping bite of the Boston Cream donut she had offered Lucy and bobbed her head to some imaginary tune as she chewed. "Do you think Shaun and Des are gonna look twice your way?" she asked once she had swallowed.

Lucy shrugged helplessly and sat down at her computer to get her systems warmed up and ready for another tenous day of memory crawling. "I'm not sure, but I hope not. I really don't want tension-"

As if cued, Desmond entered the room and he looked, for all intents and purposes, hung over. "Morning, girls," he grumbled as he sat down by Rebecca and snagged a donut for himself.

"Morning," Rebecca chimed. "You look like shit!"

"Thanks, I was up all night."

"Doing what, drinking?"

Desmond shook his head. "You know I don't like to drink heavily, Becca."

Rebecca smiled and nodded. "Yep, muddles your spider senses, I know." She heard the door shut and glanced back in time to see Shaun limp in. "Morning, sunshine."

"Good morning, Rebecca." Shaun looked as bad as Desmond, all dark circles under his eyes and a heavier than normal five o'clock shadow, still in the same clothes as the day prior. "Are we ready yet?"

"In a few minutes," Lucy replied. She could almost taste the tension in the air and knew that, with her and Rebecca squared, it had to be coming from the stronghold's notorious antagonists. "So, um, Shaun, about yesterday… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like I did."

"People snap," Shaun murmured, "it's only natural."

Rebecca caught the purposeful glare Shaun flicked Desmond and the subtle raising of a middle finger that Desmond returned. _Oooh, this is going to make the day cute._ She could joke all she wanted, but she knew that if Desmond was under any kind of emotional strain, his time in the Animus 2.0 would either be painfully short or just plain painful. "Listen, if you're still sorta frazzled, we can do some more traditional work today."

Desmond glanced over and knew that Rebecca was onto him by the softer, less energetic smile she wore. "Yeah, like what? We have no leads right now."

Rebecca shook her head. "I said work, but I didn't say what kind. You've been walking in Ezio's shoes long enough that you should have a better augmented set of skills, so we can still tire you out!"

Desmond laughed and looked back to Lucy. "You don't look happy…" he pointed out.

"You do seem stressed," Lucy admitted, "and you know how I feel about duress with this thing. If you _know_ you're stressed, we will do something else today."

Desmond finished his donut and grabbed for a coffee that has his name on it in Rebecca's handwriting. _Stressed doesn't even begin to cover what I am right now!_ He thought back to his first secession in the Abstergo Animus and shuttered at the torment he had gone through with a bad synchronization. Having just been discovered, abducted, and shoved into a then unknown machine had gone beyond stress and he had landed in a coma for a couple of days after the first forced attempt. _And I don't want to do that again._ "I think we'll stick to tradition today, if that okay by you, Lucy."

"We have a deadline," Shaun growled from where he was hunched over his work.

"And I would like to see everyone alive for it," Lucy shot back. "Please, do not start a fight _this_ soon after you've walked in, Shaun."

"Fine, baby the bloody wanker and see what it gets us in the end."

Desmond felt like pitching his very hot coffee at Shaun, but figured it would be a waste of precious, much-needed caffiene. "So, what else do we have to do since I'm being a baby?"

Lucy rolled her eyes and moved her chair around to face the others. "I was thinking on what we spoke about last night, Desmond, and I think it would be better if everyone were on the same page. I trust everyone here to keep their mouths shut, so we can start there."

"Ah, great, I'm going to play _Assassino_ now," Desmond joked. "Seriously, I've got to check in with Rainer and Ehren for something first, so I'll be right back."

Lucy nodded and waved towards the door. "When you come back, we'll lay this whole mess out on the table and see if a think-tank can get this theory of yours moving."

"Cool. Be right back!" Desmond jogged out the door and down the memorized path to the computer room, excited for a reason he couldn't understand to be doing something tangible for once. True, he still felt like a roadkill from not sleeping, but the change of pace was invigorating, and he was more than excited to see if the twins had dug anything up.

"Morn', Des…" was Rainer's greeting the minute he heard Desmond slip into the room.

Desmond just stared at the mixed Assassins sleeping practically against each other in some sort of human tepee and then he snickered. "I guess I had you guys up all night? …Wait, what is Fang doing here?"

"I got your answers," Fang-Yi murmured. "Jump drive on desk, results on computer if you want to look. Good night."

Desmond smiled and couldn't hold it against Rainer and Ehren for seeking help. If nothing else he was happy that Fang-Yi had chipped in, since her brilliance had first confirmed him as Altaϊr's descendant. "Thank you guys, very much." He grabbed the jump drive and headed back to the Animus 2.0's room to find Lucy and Rebecca almost in hysterics and Shaun missing. "Um…?"

"Shaun decided to take the day off," Lucy giggled.

Rebecca nodded in agreement and gestured widely. "He's fucking furious at you, Des!"

Desmond's expression went flat. "How is that funny, exactly?"

"Girls have _very_ good ears," Rebecca snorted. "Big, round ears that pick up muttering, murmuring, and sometimes inner thoughts."

Desmond went white as his sweatshirt when it occurred to him why the girls were laughing so hard. "That motherfucker did _not…_ he couldn't have!"

Lucy smiled, nodded, and started laughing all over again. "It's okay, Desmond… lover's spats pass."

Faintly, Desmond some combined mixture of irritation, probably a blend his own and memories of the taunting and teasing Altaϊr and Malik and Ezio and Leonardo had taken from those that knew them best. _Figures I have to endure it to, but they deserved it and I don't!_ "Can we just focus on the information I have? Believe it or not, but it's actually important."

Lucy and Rebecca made an admirable attempt to sober up, but they still failed.

Desmond sighed and decided to go through the information his cohorts had compiled while the women got the laughter out of their system.

"Sorry, sorry," Lucy apologized. "It was just very funny – Shaun was so matter of fact and affronted, we couldn't help but laugh."

"At least someone finds it funny," Desmond muttered. "So, I have to assume that Becca's totally clueless?"

"As always!"

"Okay then…" Desmond went to the room's main computer to make use of the state-of-the-art projection system a couple of Assassins had "liberated" from their Templar neighbors. When the system was ready, he booted up the jump drives he had received from Lucy and the twins, making sure that the former booted first. He wished to God he had Shaun present to smooth out the historical details, but he knew he would have to rely on his memory with the man intent on ignoring him.

"That's the page from yesterday," Rebecca immediately noted once a 3-D representation of the stray codex resolved itself over the projection table.

"It is," Desmond confirmed, "and it's a huge clue." He grabbed a stylus from a draw by his knee and underlined key notes in the passages, specifically those entailing the Templar's plans. "This is one of the first pages written by Malik as a companion to Altaϊr's codex, which we're putting together through Ezio. We have no solid proof of any other pages, but this singular page makes it clear that our generation of Assassins will face the greatest threat, since the Templars apparently figured out that sattelites broadcast _all_ sorts of signals."

"They're… going to put the Apple in space?" Rebecca gaped. "Are they nuts?!"

Desmond shrugged. "I'm not sure, but that's the plan and it's up to use to figure out where and when. I think the clues to those two questions are hidden in Malik's codex, but we have two problems." He underlined a handful of the last passage and circled a few other points. "We need the Sword and Shield to decipher the clues left behind."

"You're one of them," Lucy stated.

Desmond nodded and took a deep breath before he spat out, "Shaun is the other."

It was very, very quiet before Lucy and Rebecca blurted out at the same time, "What?!"


	8. Pride Before the Fall

"What?!"

Desmond swore, right then, that he had gone deaf and actually heard ringing in his ears from the dual shrieks Lucy and Rebecca had assailed him with. "Jesus Christ, I need my hearing!"

Lucy was almost out of her chair. "You never said anything about suspecting that there was another Maysaf Assassin, Desmond! Where did this come from?"

"It's something I've been sitting on for a while," Desmond admitted and he felt oddly liberated now that he was putting his cards on the table. "I won't go into detail, but I do have proof that I'm not insane." He looked to Rebecca and grinned sheepishly. "That was why I asked you for a history on Shaun… I wanted a starting place for the twins."

Rebecca nodded in stunned silence.

Desmond decided to keep pushing on and brought up the files he had just gotten, going with the file labeled "family_tree" in the confident assumption that it would explain everything. Being new to the information as well, he perused the file with the women and had to admit that he was impressed with the quality of Fang-Yi's work. And, as he had hoped, the lines were traced right past the Third Crusade by at least three generations.

"This is Fang-Yi's," Lucy murmured. "Yours was just as thorough."

"How… what inspired this?" Rebecca demanded in awe.

"I really got a fire lit under my ass when Shaun was picking out enemies and hiding spots faster than I was when we got slammed in," Desmond explained. "Before then, I just noticed similarities, details that were reminiscent of Malik in Shaun, but I never thought to pursue the thought."

"Are there any other proofs?" Lucy asked, desperate to make the truth stick.

"As I said, he has the Sight and it's identical to Malik's; he can, for better lack of a term, find target answers in spoken or written word like other Assassins find targets in crowds. He also has the basic ability to find enemies, allies, and safe spots, all of which he admitted to me himself. When we split up yesterday, me and him started to work on that page," he motioned behind him to the codex that hovered behind the family tree, "in his room. There were drawings in there that he shouldn't have been able to draw."

"Shaun can draw?" Rebecca echoed.

"Malik could too and they are very, very good," Desmond replied. "The point remains that there were drawings on Shaun's wall that he couldn't have seen in the record files." He shot Lucy a look to let her know that the drawings pertained to _those _ records. "And, I'm not sure if anyone noticed, but Assassins are ambidextrous, and Shaun is not."

"But he has no training," Lucy pointed out. "Most of the people in the world are right-handed."

"I've been ambidextrous since birth," Desmond shot back evenly. "Shaun's right-handed."

Lucy appreciated the nuance. "Memory reflex from Malik." It felt so strange to say and even stranger to make the correlation between the two. "Is there any evidence that Shaun had a history in the Brotherhood?"

"Not yet," Desmond sighed. "The tree makes it clear that his mother was an Assassin, but no one knows if she tried to put them into training or not." Not that he meant to be bitter, but he couldn't help but remember the fiasco that had come from his parents shipping him off to places unknown for clandestine reasons. "Can anyone actually guess what this means?"

Silence was a poignant answer.

"We need Malik's codex to find the rest of the clues and we've been through all of Altaϊr's life with no trace of the damned thing." Desmond waited for the light to go on and sighed. "We have Subject Eighteen."

Lucy gaped and Rebecca actually had the nerve to laugh. "You want him near the Animus?" the latter snickered. "You're nuttier than a bag of peanuts, Des… OH! Lucy, this means that we were right!"

"About what?" Desmond demanded, taken off guard by the sudden segue.

"Nothing," Lucy replied.

"No, all cards on the table."

Rebecca had no compulsion against those parameters and gladly spilled her guts. "Me and Lucy have been fixing 'malfunctions' with the Animus to get you and Shaun together."

It was Desmond's turn to shriek.

"Oh, c'mon!" Rebecca argued. "The sexual tension between you two is so thick, I don't think a chainsaw would cut through it! Admit it, you got it bad for him."

Desmond refused to do anything such thing and crossed his arms. "I think you've been spending too much time with your head in those pervy comic books, Becca."

"Even I have to admit that it's getting ridiclous between you two," Lucy interjected. "You guys are like cats and dogs but…" She sighed and had to make the parallel to get her point across. "It's like watching Altaϊr and Malik dance around each other all over again and it took what for those two to knock it off?"

Desmond rolled his eyes. "We are not that guided by our fates that everything plays out the way it did in the past, Lucy. If you two want to cater to your female obsessions of gay romance, be my guest."

"It is closer to being proven genetic…" Rebecca sing-songed.

"Shaun said the same thing and I'm even less inclined to believe that now that I've heard it from you." Desmond motioned back to the screen behind him. "Is anyone really worried about the fact that I just dropped a rock on their heads?"

"What can we do?" Lucy shot back. "There is no way in hell we're going to get Shaun any closer than he already is to the Animus, so what other option do we have?"

Desmond could only guess at what Lucy was hinting at and put his foot down. "I am not going to be pulling doubles when we've already got Altaϊr's life on record."

"Then we can look through what we have," Rebecca suggested. "There might have been something we missed in all of the initial upset of moving you here."

"I've looked over all of the files a hundred times and there's nothing," Lucy had to admit. "The last sequence under Ezio was the first time I'd ever heard of there being another codex."

Desmond sighed heavily because he knew what he'd have to do. Lucy would push too hard and too clinically and Rebecca would mean well, but too zealously; Shaun would punt them both to the curb. He was going to have to swallow his pride, apologize to the historian, and try to warm him up to the idea of being the Animus' next victim.

"Des?" Rebecca saw the tension in Desmond's shoulders and leaned forward. "What's up?"

Desmond disengaged the jump drives and pocketed them. "I'm going to go talk to Shaun." He could _hear_ the girls' internal chatter and held a hand up. "Someone has to do it and you two are just going to annoy him to death."

"If you think you can talk to him, we'll await the results," Rebecca replied brightly. "Good luck, Des!"

_Pervert._

_

* * *

  
_

After storming out and cloistering himself in his room, Shaun had decided that he really needed to calm down. His flurry of aggression had given far too much away to the women and he fairly dreaded Desmond's reaction if he found out that _it_ had gotten out. So, he made himself comfortable on his bed with a sketch pad worn from use and crammed with reference sheets, the pages full of artwork of various mediums. Distracted as he was, he hit the first blank page with the ballpoint pen he had snatched off his desk and drew whatever came to mind, trying to ignore the thoughts festering in the back of his mind.

But, Shaun couldn't damn well run from what he had been told, unbelievable as he wanted to make it, nor could he run from the whole fiasco.

He could understand Desmond's need to shy away and felt like dirt that he had slammed the man in the face with a verbal fist. Shaun had no idea if Desmond actually shared an orientation with his ancestors and felt like an ass for assuming that Subject 17's enthusiastic kiss out the door had been more than excitement. All he could remember was the look on Desmond's face as he _pleaded_ –something the man never did– for Shaun to hear reason, a knife of guilt twisting in his back as his mind dredged up the look on Desmond's face when he'd left.

The Assassin's descendant had really put time, effort, and stock into his research and Shaun had slammed it back in his face.

"Bleeding bastard," Shaun grumbled under his breath as he kept drawing, trying not to focus on what was emerging from the flurry of seemingly random pen strokes. When he was about to focus, there was a knock at his door and he called out, "Piss off" to dissuade anyone from trying to get in.

"Shaun, it's Desmond. We've gotta talk."

Shaun kicked himself when he heard the unnatural demure tone in Desmond's voice and cursed himself for again giving off the wrong impression. "What do you want?" He heard a knock against the door and a long slide and assumed that Desmond was content to sit outside the door to make his point known.

"Listen, I'm sorry about last night, alright? Sitting out here, I'm not going into detail, but I acted like a real son of a bitch."

"I've had it happen before and in worse terms," Shaun replied. He wasn't sure if he was comfortable keeping Desmond out, but he also wasn't sure if he wanted to face the man, didn't know if he wanted to see the quiet pleading in his eyes. "Apology accepted."

There was a laugh and a bang that was presumably Desmond introducing his head to the door. "I was afraid, you know that?"

Shaun stopped dead. "What?"

"I was scared shitless, okay? I was waiting for you to fucking punch me for darting out like I had and… it was just really sudden."

"I already said I accepted your apology."

"Yeah, well, not looking at you is making this a lot easier, so shut up and listen."

Shaun decided to do just that.

"You're an annoying, stuck-up, arrogant, prideful motherfucker that never fails to get under my skin. I can't go three seconds without getting some sort of lip from you and I can't ever get one up over you. But… goddamnit, what am I supposed to think, huh? Since you met me, you've been a total prick and I have _tried_ to be nice to you more times than I can count."

Well, what a wake-up call.

"I stopped trying, if you didn't notice. I'm didn't want to end up like Altaϊr, groveling after you ass, trying to gain approval, just to have you stomp on my fingers. But, then you go and do something like that and…" Desmond went silent for almost too long. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think now."

Shaun sighed, set his drawing aside, and called for Desmond to come in. He steeled himself for whatever was going to enter his room and wasn't too surprised when Desmond slunk in like an abandoned puppy. "What are you trying to say?" he asked once the door was closed.

Desmond opened his mouth and closed it before he took a deep breath and stated, "I'm trying to say that I've been trying to get closer to you this whole time and you keep pushing me away. And, you know, it sucked to have to run across town for our lives, but it was fucking _fun_ to run for my life with you right behind me. It felt _right_ and I liked it."

Shaun handled the admission like he handed everything else: Clinically. "Well, you haven't been a bed of roses yourself, you know. If I'm an arrogant prick, you are easily tied for first place."

"I know and I'm sorry, but I'm tired of people hurting me," Desmond shot back.

"Desmond, sit," Shaun murmured with a pat to his bed. "And I see that grin, so you've seen this play out before, haven't you?"

"Ezio and Leonardo," Desmond replied with that grin Shaun had picked up on. "Altaϊr and Malik just beat each other to death and then, well… yeah."

"I would hope we're more advanced than that." Shaun ruffled his hair and fixed his glasses, not sure how to approach Desmond now that the man had his defenses down. _He's open to attack and we both know it._ "You're not the only one who's tired of being used and hurt and I didn't want to be open to attack yet again."

"We're both too prideful, aren't we?" Desmond chuckled.

"Far too proud," Shaun agreed. "The truth is, you are right and it did feel _right_ when we had to run. It feels right when we argue, when we talk, when we just share the same space in silence. I didn't know what to do with that and I figured if I pushed hard enough, you would never come back, but you're like a damned puppy!"

Desmond grinned a little wider at that. "Are we both just trying to state, in a masculine way, that we've been crushing?"

"…I would hardly used such an unrefined word." He grabbed Desmond into a surprisingly strong embrace, sighing deeply as he rested his cheek against Subject 17's head. "You tried to tell me something important last night and I hit you when I shouldn't have. For that and for pushing you away, I'm sorry."

Desmond titled his head up and his typical smile was back. "Does this mean we're steady, love?"

Shaun smacked Desmond and pushed him upright. "You're incorrigible."

"Yep."

"So, what brought on that little confession?"

Desmond shrugged. "Want me to be honest?"

"What do you think?"

"I needed to get it off my chest and I need you to not be pissed at me because I need you to listen to me." Desmond sprawled out across the foot of the bed. "You don't have to believe me, but I have all of the proof you need and the assurance that Fang-Yi assembled the family history."

"Are you absolutely sure that there wasn't a mistake somewhere?" Shaun asked.

"This shit is dead on," Desmond replied.

"Then get my laptop and we'll take a look at this information of yours." Shaun moved over slightly to give Desmond the option to sit and sighed softly. He had no idea where things were going to go now and, frankly, he was scared half to death, but he was willing to try one more time before he gave up entirely.

* * *

"This had better be good, Assassin."

Tavares smiled as he sat at the table Vidic looked ready to dart from, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair to look the doctor in the eye. "This is _muy buenos,_ doctor." He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the disks he had copied to hand them over. "The Eagle is learning to fly and the Jackal may yet learn to hunt."

Vidic froze with his arm extended, hand just closed around the trio of cases Tavares proffered. "What was that?"

"Your wayward Subject Seventeen isn't nearly as addled as you believed him to be," Tavares replied evenly. "He's found evidence of the other codex and he's found evidence of another Maysaf Assassin." He leaned forward with an easy, "Your Templar predecessors were very sloppy in their destruction of the lines."

Vidic tore the disks from Tavares' hand and slammed them down, glare scorching as he hissed, "You would do well to watch that tongue of yours, Assassin."

"I'm only speaking the truth."

"How can I be sure of that?"

"You're sure because you're panicky." Tavares leaned back and flagged a waitress to have a coffee delivered. "Listen, you can review the information later, but it must be made known to the conciliate now that the Assassins are closing in on us. Hastings and Miles decoded the Eagle's babbling interpretations of our time and they now know our intentions for the Apple."

"Impossible," Vidic snarled. "If we could not, then they couldn't either!"

Tavares accepted his coffee from the waitress with a grateful nod and fixed his drink as he let Vidic simmer in his anger and disbelief. "We couldn't figure the clues out because we didn't have someone capable of seeing the answers in the texts. The Assassins however… they have someone who is very adept at such things because of his lineage."

Vidic slammed his hand down hard, catching the momentary attention of nearby café patrons. "You are insinuating that one of those simpering fools is descended from the Jackal's line?"

"I'm telling you." Tavares sipped his coffee with a grand motion towards the CDs. "The stories of all our elders, Templar or Assassin, are starting to come into play and I believe it would behoove us to move more swiftly now. If we can crush the Assassins in one fell swoop, our plans for the Apple will not be bothered."

"If what you're saying is true," Vidic sneered, "then they are like cockroaches." He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a heavy breath. "But, if we can rid ourselves of the Eagle and Jackal's descendants…"

"Well, best of luck getting rid of Miles," Tavares laughed. "He is becoming more of an Assassin with every secession in the Animus and there is word that he will be ready to face his trial once he had finished Ezio's sequence. However, I cannot see Hastings being that much of a threat."

Vidic did a double take and almost choked. "Hastings? …As in Mila Hastings son?"

"The only survivor," Tavares answered with a nod. "Do you understand the full scope of our problem now?"

"Yes… yes, I believe I do." A calculating gleam entered Vidic's eyes as he asked, "Is there any sign that he remembers _anything_."

Tavares shrugged nonchalantly. "He might and he might not, I really have no clue. But, I know that if they put him in the Animus, we are as good as doomed."

Vidic dropped his head with a vicious swear. "I will speak with the concilate and see what they want us to do about this turn of events. At their hastiest, be ready to meet a sweeper team within forty-eight hours."

"You think the conciliate will move that quickly?"

"When they hear of this, I'm almost certain that they will."

"Then come what may." Tavares lit up a cigarette and leaned back, far too easy going and relaxed for Vidic's liking. "Inform them that this Friday will be the most opportune time – all but the Animus team will be present."

Vidic nodded and snagged the CDs as he rose. "I will make sure you." He kicked a briefcase to Tavares with a short, "Your compensation for your trouble. The other ten grand for the information will arrive within the week."

Tavares took the briefcase with a coy smile. "Pleasure doing business."

* * *

"Astounding," was the only word Shaun could think of when Desmond brought up the family tree, unsure of where to look first. "How fast did Fang do this?"

"Overnight with Rainer and Ehren," Desmond replied with a lopsided grin. "They were sleeping when I picked this up." He had chosen to sit on the edge of the bed and had to lean over to point towards the center of the tree. "And there's your proof, unless there was more than one Malik al-Sayf running around."

Shaun shook his head, unable to deny the name that shone gold. He still wasn't sure what to make of the facts, his chest tight as he searched across the lines to the most recent. "How did she find evidence of my family?"

"Rebecca pulled a profile for us," Desmond admitted quietly. "I didn't get a chance to read it though."

_Another way of admitting he didn't way to pry further than he had to_. Shaun smiled slightly and zoomed out on the image to take in the whole expansive lineage he'd been presented. "To think, at least half of these people represented are Assassins…"

"Didn't you ever know?"

Shaun shrugged a shoulder. "I can't say I did. I knew my family was different, but there wasn't anything outstanding about us." He glanced over critically. "You say you used to be an Assassin. You knew about your lineage?"

"I knew from the day I was born," Desmond answered with a bitter note in his voice. "It pisses me off to be called a 'novice' because that's exactly what I was when I split."

Shaun felt another stab of guilt and murmured, "I'm sorry. If I'd known…"

"I could have been an Assassin, but my emotional complexes held me back," Desmond grumbled. "Apparently, being prone to outbursts and sparing marks isn't good for convicing your teachers that you're ready to undergo the trials. The only one who thought I was ready was my combat instructor, but she was hardly ever around, so go figure."

Shaun made a face and looked at Desmond. "What good is an instructor that is never around?"

"Part of our training was learning to jump flights legally and illegally." Desmond rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, some part of him surprised that he was being so open. "Every month, I'd spend two weeks in Europe learning the finer points of combat. It sucked, but I liked my teacher, so that made it suck a little less."

Curious as he was about history of all sorts, Shaun was inspired to ask, "What part of Europe?"

Desmond thought for a moment and then laughed heartily when he remembered. "Mostly in London, actually."

"Okay," Shaun admitted, "I can see where that would be funny."

"Yeah, well, it's a small world, Hastings."

"Did you keep in touch with your teacher?" Desmond's eyes hardened and Shaun knew he had just asked the wrong question. "Sorry, forget I asked."

"I would if she wasn't dead," Desmond bit out, angry at the memory and not Shaun for bringing it up, though he did have to reign in the urge to snap at the man for asking. _He had no clue, it's not his fault._ "She thought I was ready to take on a mission and she brought me along with her to get rid of a mark. Someone had tipped the target off and we were taken totally off guard, me and a couple other novices and her. We managed to get out, but goddamnit if those bastards didn't track us all the way across London. They finally caught up and me and one other novice barely got out alive; only God knows what they did to him."

_A glipse of insight,_ Shaun noted to himself. _He sounds like he admired this teacher and to have her stripped away like that, put into the Assassin life by his parents… Maybe I can see why he's so standoffish._ "I can assume that had you reconsider being in the Brotherhood," he finally murmured, to let Desmond know he was listening.

Desmond nodded, brown-gray eyes distant and cold under the press of memories he hadn't recalled since they had been scribed into his memory. "She was a lot like a surrogate Mom for me and… I was so angry. The covered the whole fucking thing up and I went insane. I killed every one involved, innocent or not… broke every tenant of the Creed and enjoyed every second of it. Reporters, cops, the Templar bastards themselves, I killed indiscriminately."

"Then… that's why you weren't so taken aback in the alley," Shaun realized.

"That carnage was kid shit compared to what I did," Desmond growled. "And I grinned the whole fucking time."

Shaun met Desmond's dark glare and saw a hardness he hadn't noticed before, the badge of a man who had seen, felt, and danced with the reaper more than once. He sighed and shook his head with a piteous chuckle. "And I thought my life was fucked up."

"Everyone walks through a different level of hell," Desmond replied quietly. "At least you had a family."

"No, I didn't," Shaun countered. "My father died when I was very young because of an industrial accident and my mother and brother were killed in a car accident that I barely crawled out of. …I might have been between fifteen and seventeen, but who knows? After that, I was old enough that I lived on my own, eventually came to the States under the beck and call of the Assassins, who needed my expertise in history."

"See, that's still hell, just a different view of it." Desmond placed his hands over his face and blew out a strained breath. "Should I console you by saying your mother at least loved you?"

Shaun chuckled. "She did, that she did. But, it sounds like your teacher tried to be as maternal as possible to you while you were with her."

"God, she was horrible! Smack me around, then yell at me for swearing, then coddle me when I got my ass handed back to me!" Desmond rested his hands on his chest and stared at the ceiling. "Now that I think about it, I need to ask Lucy for a leave."

"Why's that?"

"With the exception of one year, I've always gone to her grave," Desmond replied. "Someone used to take care of it, but for at least the past seven years, it's been untended."

The thought hit Shaun more profoundly then it should have and had him murmuring, "I might accompany you if Lucy decided to let you go. It's been as long since I've visited with my mother and brother."

"Where in the U.K.?" Desmond inquired.

"Downtown London, in a little cemetery by where I used to live… Hmm… Saint Peter's, I believe."

Desmond sat up slowly with a terrible, sinking feeling in his gut. "Third row in the second sector, seven plots back on the right?"

Shaun's eyes narrowed. "Yes, that's right… How in the hell do you know?"

"Because that's where my teacher's buried. How do _you_ know?"

"Because that's where my mother and brother are… oh Jesus Christ… Desmond, what was your teacher's name?"

"I only ever knew her first name; it was Mila."

"Oh bloody hell…"

* * *

**...02:15 hours, which translates to 2:15 in the morning... Logically, I should be sleeping, but instead I decided to pound out this update. *dies*I'm probably going to realize in the morning (read: when the sun's actually up) that I shouldn't have been typing on an insomnia binge and kick myself whilst I edit what I wrote. ...Or I'll be surprised, realize I didn't write crap, and keep going. Either way, thank you to everyone who has faved, watched, and reviewed so far! All of your comments are very kind and it really does make me happy to know that I'm not the only one enjoying this.  
**

**Also, to Ayer Gootarest: By all accounts that I can find, "ana behibak" translates to "I love you". *grins and sidles off***


	9. Back to Square One

Shaun and Desmond stared at each other, each in their own little worlds of denial as the truth banged through their skulls and painted identical expressions of incredulous horror across their expressions. One didn't want to believe that he had known the other before their meeting across the Animus 2.0 and the other didn't want to believe that he actually had a history as an Assassin. They ran as fast as they could from the common thread between them and wanted to believe that they were speaking of two totally different women that just happened to share the same name and native country. They both searched their respective memories, trying to find some sort of conflicting evidence to refute the truth, and all they drew were either blanks or irrefutable evidence that the truth was real.

Desmond even went as far as to twist his own Creed, to figure that if "nothing was true", then nothing he had heard in the last half hour was true either. To that, his mind sarcastically supplied images of his ancestors rolling in their respective graves and two particular ancestors strangling him for even _attempting_ to distort the Creed to such a selfish end. He ignored such things and kept on telling himself that nothing was true until he almost had himself deluded into thinking that everything was just one, great big coincidence.

Shaun's reasoning was a little simpler and a little less prone to homicide by dead ancestors. He couldn't recall ever training as an Assassin and couldn't remember his mother being one. He remembered his mother as an instructor of History at the local college and a part-time instructor of self-defense classes, a busy and energetic woman that encouraged free thinking and being able to defend oneself from an attacker, but not a lover of violence. He couldn't fathom her as an Assassin –a crusader of holy war– and thus convinced himself that she wasn't. He couldn't fathom being an Assassin to any degree either and so he didn't even try.

Eventually, Shaun and Desmond broke eye contact and the former started to laugh, a nervous, twittering sound that spoke more of fear than of humor. "Quite the coincidence, isn't it?" he murmured.

"Yeah," Desmond agreed, "right… A coincidence."

Shaun pushed his glasses up and shifted slightly, clearing his throat and falling back on his clinical mechanization to put everything into perspective. "There is more than one woman in the world named Mila, isn't there?"

"And I'm sure that some of those women live in the UK," Desmond added with a tenuous desperation coloring his voice.

Shaun nodded surely. "My mother was a pacifist and your teacher was an Assassin – the two are just completely incongruous with one another."

"Yep, totally right." Desmond scratched the back of his head and chuckled in the same nervous way Shaun had. "Besides, we would have remembered if we'd known each other before the stronghold."

Shaun nodded again and took a deep breath. "Having an eidetic memory, I certainly would have remembered you."

Desmond grinned hesitantly, the expression more of an uncertain scowl that twisted his lips and made him appear that much more vulnerable and angry. "So… Yeah, total coincidence."

The words hung over them like the mythological Sword of Damocles, cutting through the air with a malicious whine with every arc back and forth, drawing closer to their necks. No denial, no amount of distortion, could shake a feeling of _wrongness_ from Desmond's mind and it bothered him because he knew that they were both neck-deep in bullshit that just kept piling up. He hadn't sat and thought on his childhood for years –not since his flight from the Assassins at age sixteen– but now that he had been forced to think on the matter, two and two were not equaling four.

Desmond knew he had been forced overseas in his early teenage years, his instructors at their wits' end with his rough and unrefined, yet completely brutal tactics in battle. He had been sent to the best, a woman who was as kind as she was terrible in her ability to kill anywhere, at any place, at any time. He knew that woman had been a master-rank Assassin, a widow, and a mother of three children; he had told her once that the youngest had been stillborn, but she still counted her as a child of hers. In training, he had heard her speak eloquently on her boys and always found her pride in their accomplishments amusing.

Mila could kick his ass, lay him flat on his back in a blink, and still chatter up a storm over her family life and her boys' accomplishments. Desmond had learned early that she used those stories against him too; she told him that her youngest was a brilliant fighter that even gave her a run for her money and that her eldest was a tactical genius. He would always get angry, especially where the eldest was concerned, because he sounded like the perfect novice while he was the brain-damaged degenerate that only knew the most neanderthal methods of combat.

"_Mila, quit mentioning him, would you?! I'm not your damned kid, I'm me… AIE!"_

_Mila grinned as she stood over him, his arm still in her deceptively strong grasp. "I tell you about my sons to encourage you, Des. You have the potential, but you just lack the finesse. You do better when I piss you off, notice that?"_

"_But they can't be that good!" he shot back angrily as his shoulder and back started screaming from the violent flip. _

"_Ah, aren't they?" Mila let his arm go and helped him up with a light laugh. "Why don't I bring them with me tomorrow and we see if they aren't as good as I say they are?"_

"_I doubt they are, but whatever you say…"_

Desmond had eaten those words and a few fists the following day; Mila's sons had laid him flat and then shoved his face in the smell of his own failure. The eldest… God, he still hated that stuck up, simpering, arrogant bastard; even the recollection of his long-forgotten rival raised his blood pressure. The kid hadn't just been a taciturn thinker, he was a brutal fighter that was as unpredictable as he was cold. They had bashed heads repeatedly after that one meeting and all he could do was think about the day when he could lay the novice flat and laugh at him as he bled on the floor. It never happened, but they had come to a point where they were tied in every aspect of their training and one could never get ahead of the other. Barb for barb, hit for hit, they were perfect equals that could have fought as a well-oiled killing machine if their pride didn't demand that they put each other in the ground before their next birthdays.

"You're thinking far too hard," Shaun grumbled when he noticed the faraway look in Desmond's eyes.

Desmond snapped out his little world with a sheepish grin, easily covering his unease when it became apparent that Shaun was convinced that the whole ordeal was a big joke. "Yeah, well, it's kind of hard not to."

"Then stop," Shaun stated, though his tone sounded suspiciously like a command. "Now, the bullshit aside, is there something in particular that you needed me to be congenital towards you for?"

_Oh crap… I hate it when he remembers shit like that._ Desmond sighed and nodded; he had to bring the subject up and get Shaun's perspective or else Lucy and Rebecca would botch any hope they had of retrieving another valuable set of memories. "I'm going to come right out and tell you that we've got all of Altaϊr's memories and there is no record of Malik's codex. Ezio was the first time we even heard of the damned thing and it doesn't look like Altaϊr left any more then his own thoughts and blueprints behind."

"And you think that subjecting me to that monstrosity will reveal the answer to all of our problems?" Shaun scoffed and waved the notion off like it was a bad odor. "There is no way in hell I'm getting any closer to the Animus then my desk."

Desmond had somehow foreseen that reply and had an argument ready. "Malik was much more detailed in his records than Altaϊr was and… what if you _are_ hiding the answers in that overblown head of yours?"

"Then they can damn well stay there," Shaun shot back, apparently ready to fight to the death over the matter. "And do not pursue the matter further, Miles. My answer is final and will stay that way."

Desmond knew simply by the use of his last name that any further discussion on the matter wouldn't be pleasant and he let the subject drop there. "Then, I've said what I came to stay and I'm going to leave it at that."

"Where are you going?" Shaun asked when Desmond got up.

"I need to talk to Lucy about going deeper into Altaϊr's memories to try and find some sort of answer," Desmond replied.

"While you're going through Ezio's memories?" Shaun sounded absolutely floored by the suicidal nature of Desmond's venture. "Are you looking to vegetate yourself by the end of the week?"

Desmond rolled a shoulder in a shrug, his demeanor cold as he replied, "Someone has to do it," before he took his leave. He slammed the door closed behind him and swore he heard a voice whisper, _Two steps forward, one step back…_

_

* * *

_

Lucy and Rebecca practically pounced on Desmond when he returned some two hours later, hungry for details and just a little unsure about the dark look in his eyes and the tense set of his shoulders. "So?" the latter finally had the gall to inquire.

"I'm going to need to go deeper into Altaϊr's memories," Desmond replied stonily as he sat down. "Shaun refuses to go anywhere near the Animus and I need a question answered."

Lucy looked even less sure and asked, "What sort of answers?"

"Me and Shaun were talking and I think that we have more than ancestors in common – his mother and my combat teacher were the same woman." Desmond rested his forehead in his fists and heaved a tired sigh. "I can remember having a rival from my time overseas as a novice, but I can't remember more than that."

Lucy gaped when she realized what Desmond was asking. "You want to go back into Altaϊr's memories, finish Ezio's, and try the unprecedented by pulling up your own memories, all at the same time?! Are you insane?"

"We need answers to get ahead of the Templars and I need to know if I knew Shaun before returning to the Assassins," Desmond murmured. "I know the risks involved and I know that present memory dives have never been attempted in the Animus before, but we have to try."

Rebecca shared a glance with Lucy and shook her head. "It's too dangerous, Desmond."

"Shaun won't fucking well do it himself," Desmond snapped. "Christ, it's like he's fucking afraid of the damned thing and someone has to get answers before we're all Templar zombies!"

The women flinched back at the venom on Desmond's voice and decided not to press the issue too hard. "Listen, Des," Rebecca tried, "we can alternate between Altaϊr and Ezio's memories with minimal risk, but trying to recover your own memories at the same time…? Can you meet us in the middle and keep the use of the Animus to the past only?"

"When we're done there, we can try to recalibrate the machine to go through your own memories," Lucy added helpfully. "We'll have to do some preliminary tests, but there's a chance that we can do it."

"What sort of tests?" Desmond inquired.

"First, we have to make sure that you're not just suffering from the lapse of time," Lucy replied. "If you do actually have some sort of amnesiatic block in the way, then we can use the Animus to remove it in the same way we extract genetic memory. Second, we'd have to do some neurological testing to make sure that you haven't suffered any damage from the Animus and finally, we would have to make sure that you're physically healthy enough to go it another round."

"I'm healthy," Desmond shot back.

"And yet you look a little bonier under your sweatshirt," Rebecca muttered under her breath.

Desmond rolled his eyes and shot back, "Are we going to do this or not?"

"Today?" Lucy demanded.

"Yes, today," Desmond retorted. "If I double-time on Ezio's memories, then you two can review Altaϊr's memories to see if we did actually miss anything before I go melting my brain any further. If we missed something, I'll go back. If not, we're going to have to follow the clues the old fashioned way."

"And how can we do that if you and Shaun are the ones needed to _find_ the clues?" Lucy inquired.

"We'll improvise."

"Now you're just being stubborn."

"Lucy, someone has to do _something_ and it seems like I'm the only guy around here suicidal enough to do that _something_."

"Then we'll talk to Shaun again."

Desmond shook his head with a barking laugh. "You'd have better luck talking to a wall, Lucy. He wants nothing to do with the Animus and he intends to stay as far away from it as humanly possible."

"I can believe that," Rebecca grumbled.

Lucy knew that Desmond was right, knew she shouldn't push the point, but she was stanchly against triple-timing him in the Animus 2.0 just because Shaun had a fear of the damned thing. "There isn't _any_ way we can convince him to even _try_?"

"No, there isn't." Desmond got up and sat down on the Animus 2.0, just to send Lucy a signal that he wanted to stop talking and start working. _And kill people…_ He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he was just frustrated enough that the idea of playing Ezio for a little whole and assassinating people sounded really good, like a conducive way to bleed his anger out.

Lucy sighed and took the hint. "Okay, okay, let's go."

"Really?" Rebecca glanced uncertainly between Lucy and Desmond, unsure of what to do with the tension in the room, and held her hands up when they both glared at her. "Yikes, scary…"

Desmond lay down and closed his eyes, focusing on the heavy hum of the Animus 2.0 as it booted up and shutting out every thought until a pleasant blankness remained.

* * *

"**Ezio, you're alive!"**

**Ezio groaned when the full force of Leonardo's enthusiasm slammed into him and he gave the painter a loose, one-armed hug before he stated, "Can you get me go, please?"**

**Leonardo pulled back with a reproachful look in his eyes and ruthlessly twanged a finger against the arrow jutting from his lover's shoulder. "You also look like you were mauled. What happened?" As if he had to ask; he could tell what had happened just by the looks of the **_**Assassino**_**. "Come, sit down. I'll tend to your wounds."**

**Ezio could only manage a tired grin and sat on a nearby stool, his movements stiff and telling of the pain he was in as he pulled off his armor and deposited it on the floor. Next, he started to remove the ponderously complicated layers that comprised the top half of his clothes, ignoring the way the blood scratched at his skin and pulled in places where it had completely dried.**

"**So, I take it the flying machine actually worked?" Leonardo inquired idly as he came from a back room, arm laden with supplies.**

"_**Sì, **_**it worked beautifully,"****Ezio replied as he briefly wondered if more of his blood or Grimaldi's stained his clothes.**

**Leonardo made some noise of assent and pulled a stool over to sit in front of Ezio, his bearing almost cold as he eyed up the arrow in the **_**Assassino**_**'s shoulder and the mauled state of his right leg. "At least you didn't take an arrow to the head."**

"**Yes, because that was a wonderful thought to leave me with," Ezio chided.**

**Apparently, Leonardo was in a strange mood because he fisted the cloth he had grabbed and glared at Ezio almost nastily. **_**"Mi dispiace,**_** you were nervous and that wasn't the sort of thing I should have said."**

**Ezio grabbed Leonardo's wrists and titled his head down to meet the painter's simmering gaze. "**_**Amore mio**_**, what's troubling you? You haven't been this short with me since… well, it's been quite a while."**

"**I was worried," Leonardo muttered, more to his lap then his lover. "I thought the worst when the city alarm sounded and… I was just concerned."**

**Ezio smiled and leaned forward to kiss Leonardo. "You are going to worry yourself to death. I may not be in one piece, but I am safe, am I not?"**

**Leonardo sighed and nodded before he set about cleaning Ezio's minor wounds. "We are going to figure out a way to cover the gaps in your armor. I don't know how many more times I can stand patching over injuries and pulling foreign objects out of you."**

"_**Mi dispaice**_**," Ezio apologized. "I appreciate your help."**

**Leonardo whacked Ezio's good shoulder with a much more familiar grin. "Come now, you spoke to me like that when we first met. There is no call for such formalities."**

**Comfortable silence lapsed between the couple until Leonardo was forced to contend with that pesky arrow. To distract Ezio, he started talking while he figured out the best way to remove the accursed thing. "So, while you were on business these past days, I managed to solve those pages you brought to me."**

**Ezio's expression lit up before he grimaced in pain when Leonardo snapped the arrow at the head before abruptly yanking it out. "You… did?" he inquired thickly, reflexively covering the injury when it started to bleed all over again.**

**Leonardo nodded and gently moved Ezio's hand to clean the blood away. "I couldn't figure them out at first because the syntax of the code was drastically different from the pages you've been bringing me. They're fascinating, but I can hardly claim to know what they mean."**

**Ezio flinched when Leonardo spared no expense with the antiseptic (namely the alcohol he kept around for just such occasions). "Are they like the one you gave me earlier?" **

"**Very much so," Leonardo replied, "but so much more mystic." He almost rolled his eyes and scoffed. "The writings could be construed as pure madness if one didn't already know that the author was a genius."**

"**What do they speak to?"**

"**Lands that we've never heard of in a time that is far beyond our comprehension," Leonardo murmured thoughtfully, a troubled light in his eyes. "Tell me, Ezio, have you heard of the name they have given you?"**

**Ezio arched a brow and shook his head, then hissed when Leonardo applied a salve to his wound. "I've heard slander, but nothing more."**

"**I've heard whispers of the 'Eagle of Firenze' disposing of evil men in this world. Ironic that they called Altaϊr the Eagle of Maysaf…" Leonardo securely bandaged the wound and motioned for Ezio to proffer his wounded leg. "These texts speak of a time when the Eagle will fly alone across the lands of darkness to the truth, in a time long after the author's. Then… There is talk of a time–"**

Desmond almost had a coronary when the Animus 2.0 blanked out and he was rudely ejected into the real world again. "What the fuck, girls?" Even as he spoke, he could hear the ghostly whispers that he had almost missed in the abrupt desynch, an ancient threat that banged against his skull and battered at his reserve mercilessly.

"Corrupted sequence," Rebecca replied in way of an apology.

Desmond slammed his fists against the rests and swore colorfully. "Can't you fix it?"

"I'm a computer expert, not a biogeneticist," Rebecca shot back. "Sorry, but we can't do anything else."

Desmond wanted to kill something more than before and actually felt the urge in his hands until he had to sit up and sit _on_ them to stop himself. "This is getting us fucking nowhere!"

"Desmond, calm down," Lucy tried.

"How can I calm down?" Desmond demanded, his mind working furiously over what he had just seen and heard. "Get inches from an answer, just to have it pulled away! God, I'm so _sick_ of this!" He simmered –boiled really– until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Lucy standing over him.

"We'll review the glitch and try again in the morning," Lucy stated softly. "I know the look in your eyes and it wouldn't be good to continue today."

"But-"

"Go and calm down," Lucy interjected. "If you feel better later, we'll continue."

Desmond took that as the best he was going to get from the woman and nodded his assent. "If I come back, that means that I'm calm, I swear."

"Then go and I'll see you later," Lucy chuckled in confidence that Desmond would calm himself down just to get back in the Animus 2.0 again.

* * *

Silence and drawing could only sate Shaun for so long and with the things rattling through his head, it wasn't too long before he had to seek out some sort of human contact. His preternatural need for solitude kept him from the common rooms, but he did find himself wandering to the one place where he was too distracted to think and there weren't a lot of people to bother him. Despite his broken leg and the awkward maneuvering, he sat on a catwalk that sat suspended over the training area, pleased to see that there were a healthy number of spectators and an amusing fight taking place.

From the looks of the colors they wore, it was a master-class Assassin versus a novice-class, but their identities were kept a secret from the onlookers and each other by the deep hoods they wore.

Shaun smiled and crossed his arms over the railing to rest his jaw on them, content in the simple pleasure of watching violence without taking part in it. He felt peace come over him as he watched the two Assassins dart from each other and rush back in for a strike, heard the frantic voices in his head quiet as he focused on the clash of weapons and roar from the crowd with each blow traded. This was simple, this was easy to explain, and he needed that at the moment. But, that didn't mean that Shaun wasn't totally thoughtless. He sat there and played his old game of trying to guess the identity of the Assassins by the meager hints he was given.

The master-class was male and possibly one of the Middle Eastern Assassins that frequented the stronghold, either _Hassassin_ or _Suikastçi_ by the twin scimitars sheathed at his back. He moved gracefully and in an unhurried manner, seeming to dance around his opponent with no indication as to what weapon he had chosen for the fight. The novice-class was painfully American and male, strong in his strikes and clumsy in his follow through, obviously unrefined by the wild way he wound up swinging his weapons and the smatters of crimson that already adorned his clothing.

"Taking bets for this round, Hastings. Care to wager?"

Shaun looked up to find Seiya standing over him waving a thick wad of cash and wearing a used car salesmen smile. "I don't even know who the competitors are."

"Master-class _Suikastçi_ versus a novice-class Assassin," Seiya replied, like it was the most obvious thing to see. "Bets start at three grand and house is pulling for the _Suikastçi_."

Shaun scoffed and smirked wryly. "I just have me, myself, and my crutches, so I can get you doubles against the house later."

Seiya's thin brows almost disappeared into his bangs and he had to make sure that he had heard Shaun correctly. "That's a lot of money, you know that, right?"

Shaun nodded and motioned to the fight. "I pull for the underdogs." He laughed when Seiya walked away grumbling to himself about "books making people crazy" and focused his attention on the fight to find that it had escalated.

The Assassin had a dagger lodged in his thigh just shy of a fatal kill and his body posture screamed that he wasn't happy as he circled the _Suikastçi_, who had unsheathed his scimitars after apparently getting whacked around by his lower ranked opponent.

"KILL HIM!" came from somewhere in the catwalks, follow by loud hoots and jeers against the novice.

Shaun remained quiet and watched, studied the coil of the novice's torso and understood what he was going to do. _He's injured, so trying to free run is useless. The _Suikastçi _will have him on his back in no time… I was stupid to bet–_

Shaun's internal grief was rendered mute when the _Suikastçi_ charged and the Assassin managed a beautiful back flip onto a stack of crates that he quickly scaled, fingers finding purchase on the bar of a lower catwalk that he used to propel himself onto the top of one of the security gates. The _Suikastçi_ followed in fast order, but the Assassin apparently had a plan in mind as he rid himself of one of his nightsticks and made use of the dagger in his leg.

Blood made the narrow strip of metal slippery and the _Suikastçi _didn't seem to pay it mind, scimitars shrieking against the lone nightstick as the Assassin held his ground even has his knees buckled. The crowd started to whip into frenzy when they saw the novice bow almost completely, but Shaun could see what was coming before the others did.

The novice's boots slipped against his own blood and he fell back with the movement, taking a slice across the abdomen to deliver a bone-crushing, two-footed kick to the _Suikastçi_'s stomach. The novice kept with the momentum and bounced from his hands off of the gate's top to slide down the chain link, where he had to think fast to avoid a projectile scimitar.

"Last blood!" a familiar voice that Shaun couldn't quite place roared. "Get 'im, get 'im, get 'im!"

Shaun was rapt to the fight now as the _Suikastçi_ jumped from the gate's top to roll to his feet on the ground, scimitar back in hand as he bore down on the novice. Dagger and nightstick took a brutal beating from the twin scimitars and the novice managed to twist out of the way; his execution on a retake would have been genius if his leg didn't buckle and send him to his knees. He felt a groan boil up in his throat when the _Suikastçi_ bore down on the Assassin and it turned into a gasp when a blade flashed through the harsh light to draw a deep, serious line across the master-class's chest.

"Match decided!" the same voice shouted.

The _Suikastçi_ had to follow through on his actions even as the match was called and his scimitars crashed through the Assassin's shoulders straight through to the ground.

Shaun actually felt his pulse in his throat when the last blows were exchanged, unaware that he had edged closer to the railing through the fight. _That… was pretty good for a novice._ He saw a bouncy little flash of black and pink dart from the sidelines on the ground and finally recognized the familiar voice as Fang-Yi's. _Figures she would like the fights._ He took a deep breath and calmed himself down, silently hoping that there would be another fight after this one, as he watched the master-class release the novice.

Both fighters exchanged a handshake to show that there were no hard feelings and Fang-Yi pranced into view with a little bounce as she same to center stage. "Okay, I'm sure that last round slowed our little _lăo diăo_ down, so who else wants to give it a shot?" She looked around with an impish gleam in her eyes. "Come on, no one here thinks they can take down a mere novice?"

"We'll take him on!"

Shaun felt his jaw drop when Rainer and Ehren stepped out from the shadow of a large stack of boxes, partially unable to believe that they were wielding weapons that he had only _read_ about. _Two at once? That kid's screwed._ He knew his winnings were secure with the last fight, but he was just downright unsure about this one.

"That okay?" Fang-Yi asked the novice. "They _are_ on the same level as you."

The hooded head nodded once and the dagger was cast aside and the last nightstick collapsed.

"Okay, third blood wins!" Fang-Yi scampered to the sidelines before she yelled, "GO!"

Shaun swore that the twins wouldn't be able to do more than stand in one spot, so it was to his great surprise that the _Attentäter_ ran at the Assassin almost too fast to catch. Their massive broadswords caught the light ominously as they leapt at the same time, blades arcing to cross in an X at the novice's throat for the world's fastest match decision. The whole room went dead quiet when the Assassin was forced back with wrenching force, throat bleeding from the two behemoth swords that he hadn't been able to dodge. What got everyone was the fact that the Assassin wasn't without his digs; a pair of blades that looked pathetic next to the twins' weapons were dug into their throats.

"Erm… tie?" Fang-Yi announced meekly. "You're all sort of dead if any of you move."

Rainer was the first to break and Ehren second and they were both grinning madly as they shouldered their weapons. "Just fucking around, man! Good reflexes."

Shaun startled clear out of his reverie when he heard the novice's sharp "_Neek hallak_," and saw the man beneath the hood when he swept it back to glare properly at the twins. His brain sort of short-circuited for a minute thereafter as he tried to comprehend the fact that he had just witnessed a brutal set of bouts that involved _him_. It just didn't seem possible – there was no way that his abilities were so well augmented that he could even grasp the concept of a fight. True, his style was unrefined, but the point was that he _could_ fight and he did so well even after receiving grievous injuries.

"C'mon, serious takers only! I'm looking to fuck faces up!"

Shaun felt like dropping a crutch on Desmond's head while he had to admit that the man was a fair bit more like Ezio than Altaϊr. His mind called up images of the former taunting friends and foes alike in the same way as Desmond, arms held horizontal and tongue sharper than a blade's edge, a maniacal glint in his eyes as he looked around for a contender. Ultimately, he didn't drop a crutch on Subject 17's obviously scrambled head, but he did call down, "Why don't you learn how to fight before you storm the playground?"

Desmond honed right in on Shaun's voice and offered him two middle fingers. "Hobble your ass down here and say that to my face, Hastings!"

"You wouldn't be worth the dent in my crutches," Shaun shot back, irritated by Desmond's heckling. "Bark up another tree, Miles." He had precious little time to register the fact that Desmond had moved before he had one very bloody, very aggressive novice literally in his face. "The hell?" His brain kept tripping over the fact that the man had just made a two story ascent in the time it took him to hurl an insult.

"If you didn't notice," Desmond hissed dangerously, "I'm not in a mood to fuck around. Sit here and watch quietly or go away." Now he looked like Altaϊr, full of menacing purpose and the will to carry out a perfectly senseless murder. "Take your pick."

Shaun just smirked coolly and waved Desmond off. "I just came here to observe, nothing more. Carry on, novice."

"As you wish, _Sciacallo_."

Shaun couldn't reign in the urge and sucker punched Desmond before he could descend, his smirk satisfied when the younger man looked up at him with a bloody nose. "Told you, not worth the dent."

"Verbal match, third blood wins!" Fang-Yi called out jokingly. "Seriously, Shaun sweetie, get down here and fight or be a nice, silent pigeon."

Oh it was tempting… Shaun could hear the siren's call for blood in the back of his head, a long dormant instinct that he had possessed as a child and buried as a young man under academia. It was the same voice his mother had helped him silence, something he hadn't heard for so long. Something about watching the fights quelled the voice when it started to whisper to him again, but Desmond? Nothing but a round with the Eagle himself would shut that damned nag up and Shaun knew it.

"I'll be right down," he called with amazing conviction.

"You're fucked," Desmond chided.

Shaun knew that was probably true, what with his leg being broken and all, but those violent instincts whispered in louder voices that he didn't need to move to flatten the man that irritated him, drove him to obsessive worry, and confused him like nothing else could. Rationality begged him not to fight as he descended to the ring in normal fashion –via the stairs– and tried to tell him that he would regret acting out of anger later. He shut that voice up harshly and handed Fang-Yi his crutches, his stance not revealing his discipline or style.

Desmond looked far too pleased as he squared his shoulders and brought his nightsticks back out, his grin feral as he left his hidden blades deployed over the hilts of his primary training weapons. "I think I'm going to enjoy this." He wanted Shaun to hurt as badly as he was hurt, wanted to see the man bleed like he knew he was going to have to bleed, all to punish him for running from the truth and making him suffer.

Shaun wanted Desmond to leave him alone, to stop pulling up painful memories and making him second guess himself and his life.

They both knew they were reenacting ancient history, but neither one cared as doubtful murmurs filled their ears and Fang-Yi's resounding, "GO!" signaled the start of one hell of a grudge match.

* * *

**Okay, after having my ass kicked by all three classes at once, I managed to beat back the tide of homework and update! *throws confetti* Thank to everyone for sticking it out with me and I'll update as soon as I can! **

**...And, before aaaaaanyone asks how you'd fight on a broken leg, it can be done. I broke my leg in 9th grade and beat the snot out of a rival a few days later, mostly without moving. XD I hurt like hell afterward, but found out that it is remotely doable. Shaun strikes me as the type to be just stubborn/prideful enough to attempt such a stunt, so ta-da?**


	10. 361 Degrees

Animosity, repression, and one might daresay betrayal made the air tense and uncertain as Desmond circled Shaun, nightsticks twirling in his hands every so often. He was obviously on guard, not taken in by the other's wounded state, eyes searching for that one weak spot that would end the fight quickly and painfully. He didn't like the cool confidence in Shaun's eyes, felt his blood boil when his Sight failed to inform him that the historian wasn't an enemy, and he finally came back to center with an animalistic roar before he sprang at Shaun.

Desmond had been right not to underestimate Shaun.

Fast considering his leg, Shaun slipped to the side and let Desmond blow right past, head titled to watch the Assassin's descendant right head-long into a stack of empty boxes. He saw a flash of blue-white dart up of a ponderous pile of crates and his ears keenly picked up the ratting of hasty footsteps across the catwalks before he saw a shadow on the wall in front of him. He hit the ground hard, letting his wrists take the blow, and crudely rolled back to his feet, shifting to keep his weight on his good leg.

"No fucking fair," Desmond snarled as he shook his head to clear the stars, the beam he had run into probably still reverberating from the hit.

Shaun shrugged carelessly, not trading words for fear of breaking his concentration. He just needed Desmond to get close enough… _Ah, simpering novice._ He braced as Desmond ran at him again and made a lightning fast grab for one of his nightsticks, rearing back to headbutt the younger man and using his right hand to wrench the weapon away from Desmond and score a brutal strike across his cheek that drew blood.

"First blood!" Rainer –or was it Ehren?– cried from somewhere in the crowd.

Shaun let the note roll off his back and blocked Desmond's now open hidden blade with the nightstick, whipping his stolen nightstick to bat Subject 17 across the same cut he had just inflicted. Without missing a beat, he followed the arc of his arm through and came back again to hit Desmond's neck hard, smirking when he flinched away and danced back out of reach. "Do you see the different in our levels now, novice?"

"_You're no less of a novice than me, asshole!"_

"_Guys, c'mon!"_

"_Tony, stay out of this."_

"_But…"_

_He stepped up and placed his sneaker-clad foot over the Assassin novice's chest, arms crossed as he glared down at the younger teenager. "You never can and never will best me, novice."_

Shaun would have loved to shake off the shock from his mind's ill-timed prod, but Desmond did the honors for him. He reeled to the point of teetering as the other's nightstick made firm contact with his temple, skewing his glasses and drawing blood. He faintly heard someone call first blood for him and grit his teeth, now angry at himself _and_ Desmond for actually striking him _that _hard. _Calm and focused. Do not let anger cloud your judgment._

Desmond saw Shaun's distraction and pounced on it, feinting at his midsection with his nightstick to follow through and draw second blood across the historian's leg with his hidden blade. "I see that you're totally beneath me."

Shaun bit the inside of his mouth and decided to hell with his leg, his poise, his judgment, his reservations, and his morals. All he could focus on was putting that smart assed little prick down and putting him back in his rightful place – below him.

_Blades flashed in the harsh lighting as the two novices went at it yet again, obscenities flying more readily than the blood as they beat on each other with brutal force. It could have been construed that they were trying to kill each other and anyone watching believed so with the grievous wounds they drew on each other and the names they hurled back and forth. Third blood came and went and still no one dared to break the feral spell the novices were under, all eyes locked on the combatants as the wounds inflicted became more and more grevious, too close to fatal at times._

_Finally, the elder novice got that one lucky hit in and pinned the other to the floor, hidden blade lodged in unprotected flesh. But, before he could gloat he realized that his side hurt _too_ much and he looked down to find his rival grinning and another hidden blade stabbed into his ribs._

"Goddamnit!" Shaun barely snapped out of his reverie in time, hitting the floor hard to avoid the hunting knife that sung through the air his head had occupied. "Are you trying to kill me, you fucking twat?"

"Maybe I am," Desmond snarled back as he cast off his nightstick and dagger to pounce on Shaun, one hand holding his shirt while the other beat away at whatever he could get at. "If you weren't fucking chickenshit–" The sucker punch Shaun got in only angered him further and he brought his second fist into play. "–we wouldn't be here!"

Shaun found an opening and grabbed Desmond by the wrists, pulling his arms out wide to headbutt him hard, using the distraction to flip their positions and return the beating he had received. "I'm chickenshit and you're the one having a bleeding brat fit!" He yelped when Desmond tossed him, skidding across the floor a small way with little time to recover.

"Tense" was an understatement as the match came to a halt, Desmond's hands around Shaun's neck and Shaun's around Desmond's. They glared at each other, bloody and bruised and out of breath, each daring the other to apply more pressure first. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the warehouse as everyone waited for the violent outburst that was lurking under the deceptively calm surface.

"I wanted to give you a chance… Oh, God, did I want to give you a chance," Desmond hissed, leaning down to assure that only Shaun could hear him. "But you proved that you are no different from every other motherfucker I've met, just another son of a bitch interested in _what_ I am, what I can do, and how many ways you can use me before I'm damaged beyond repair."

Shaun's hands twitched, but he stayed them, red rimming his vision as he tried to remain the calmer head. "You don't know what you're asking of me! I can't do it!"

"Because you're fucking chickenshit!" Desmond snarled. "I damn well know what I'm asking you to do and goddamnit if it makes me sick to even fucking ask!" His hands moved to grasp the front of Shaun's shirt and he hauled the man up despite the hands still at his throat. "I'm asking because you are the last fucking hope we have."

"I'm a historian, you're the Assassin. The only hope I bring is the hope that no one else will suffer paper cuts or allergic reactions to ancient tomes," Shaun shot back. "You're the Maysaf descendant."

"So are you!" Desmond snapped and it was obvious that Shaun's denial was the trigger for his temper. "Goddamnit, you talk like him, write like him, fight like him… You _are_ the Jackal of Maysaf's descendant and no denial is going to erase that." He swiped a finger through the blood that had streamed down Shaun's face and held it up for him to see. "This can't be denied."

Anger flashed white and hot across Shaun's senses and he reacted instinctively, one hand tightening on Desmond's throat while the other grabbed for his arm, using both as leverage to throwing the man off his torso. The moment he was free, an animalistic roar left his throat, his head banging with a hundred memories that had no more definition than air, and he launched at Desmond. He dragged them both to their feet and slammed the younger man against the nearest hard surface –a small pallet of crates– and reveled in the crack his skull made on contact.

He beat out his anger.

He beat out his pain.

He beat out his fear.

Shaun took everything out on Desmond and didn't stop until Desmond was on the ground on his hands and knees. It would have been so easy… too easy… all he had to do was reach down and _snap_! The instinct was there, the knowledge was there, the _will_ was there and the other man hadn't fought back once…

"_STOP!"_

_He cried out as he was wrenched away, blood flying with spit as he turned on the woman who had broken them up. He was past the ability to speak, his mind boiled down to the killer instinct that had been drilled into his skull since he had been born. All he could do was lunge again and scream when he was forced back, eyes set on the teenager that struggled to his feet, beaten bloody._

_The woman approached him and held him against the wall, amber eyes glaringly serious as she crisply smacked him across the face. "What in the hell has gotten into your head!"_

"_I have to…" he hissed out, his breathing labored and lips flecked with blood._

_The woman shook her head and there was pain etched into her face around the steely mask she wore. "No, no you don't!" She motioned back to the beaten novice that did well to keep his distance. "You have to control yourself!" She grabbed him by the chin and her stare never faltered as she tried to find some semblance of sanity. "It's hard, I know that, but you must learn to control that instinct to kill. It's easy to just follow your instincts, it's much harder to control them."_

"_But-" As he calmed, speech and thought came easier, as well as the dawning horror of what he had almost done._

"_No. Listen to me, you are both from very special bloodlines, very powerful ancestors, and you dishonor them by acting like a common hitman. Control yourself and stop trying to kill him!"_

"_I just…" He heard something break in the back of his mind and he broke in turn, rushing into her to wrap shaking arms around her torso. "I'm sorry, Mom! I don't… I don't mean to!" He knew he'd pay for the emotional outburst later, but he didn't care at the moment. He was scared and lost and he just needed his mother at the moment._

_Yet, he was surprised when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over, sniffling pitifully, to find his rival right there with that same wry smile on his scarred lips. _

"_Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore, Shaun. This is the what time we've tried to kill each other?"_

"_Des…?"_

_It was impulsive, it wasn't really manly, and it sure as hell wasn't what they were taught, but the younger pulled him into a hug and held him tight. "Mila's right, we've gotta stop."_

_Only he heard the next words that were whispered in his ear: "You're the first one to treat me like a person and… I care about you too much now. I can't keep fighting you and I refuse to hurt you again…"_

Shaun didn't realize that the fight had drastically changed until he noticed that he was staring at the ceiling, his head reeling and something warm –probably blood– was dripping down his face. Before he could get up, Desmond came into view and he steeled himself for whatever punishment he was going to receive. He was shocked when a bruised and torn hand was extended and he saw the regret in Desmond's eyes and could only take the help up with his leg about ready to give up entirely. "Desmond?"

Desmond's words echoed the novice's, "I can't fight you and I refuse to hurt you. Don't make me keep hurting you, Shaun." He was desperate, he was tired, and he was hurt beyond his injuries.

Shaun couldn't keep running and he faced the facts when they refused to leave him alone.

The novices he kept seeing, the words he kept hearing… The cock-sure kid with messy hair and an auspicious scar across the right side of his mouth, the taciturn introvert that never wanted to admit attachment; the kids that started as rivals and became friends…

Shaun knew the wet warmth on his face wasn't just blood and collapsed into Desmond – it was all he could do to keep from screaming.

* * *

"Are you two insane?!"

Shaun and Desmond flinched in time as Lucy reared up on them, pale blue eyes flashing with the fires of hell as she tried to decide which one to pummel first. "I can understand the need to brawl every once and a while, but _this_?" With a quick flick of her wrist, she indicated the wounds both of them had inflicted on each other, Desmond's more prevalent with his shirt missing. "I'm beginning to wonder where I put my U.S.D.A. stamp because you two are market ready as prime cuts of meat!"

"He started it," Shaun shot back defensively and not without the realization that he sounded like a ten-year-old.

Desmond rolled his eyes and grumbled, "If memory serves, you started it."

"Given the fact that you speak better Arabic sometimes then English, I wouldn't necessarily trust your memory."

"ENOUGH!" Lucy bellowed and she almost knocked their heads together. "I can tolerate the sniping and I've never minded the rivalry between you two, but this is damn well far enough! Next time, you're going to be sitting in a morgue, I can almost guarantee it!"

Desmond threw his hands up. "You are blowing this out of proportion, Luc."

Lucy eyed Desmond dangerously. "You think so? Then what on earth should I think when one of you winds up dead one day?"

"That won't happen," Shaun retorted.

"It almost did! Tavares saw the whole match and I can damn well believe that you two were shy of killing each other." Lucy crossed her arms and glared between Desmond and Shaun again. "I don't know what you two have to do to work this out, but I want it gone by the morning. We have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it in. The Templars are becoming more active around the stronghold and I want Ezio's memories finished before they get impatient."

Desmond saw the tiny shift in Lucy's expression and easily sorted out the hints from the truths. _So, she's agreed to my method of madness…_ Somehow, he didn't feel any better –certainly didn't feel more victorious– and hung his head. "Once the doctor clears me, I want–"

"No," Lucy interjected sternly. "I want you both to take the night to sort yourselves out because I am not going to tolerate this level of animosity for much longer." She saw the looks on their faces and almost laughed at how much they resembled spoiled little boys that had been denied a demand. "On that note, I will leave you to start settling the score while you take care of _your own_ injuries."

"_Cosa_?!" Desmond yelped.

"I told the doctor that you two were more than capable of taking care of your own wounds," Lucy replied. "You know where all the supplies are, so help yourselves."

For the first time in a while, Desmond and Shaun were in complete –if not silent– agreement as they glared nastily at Lucy's departing back, both thinking ill and depraved things of the woman until they exhausted their extensive list of death wishes. Thereafter, Shaun didn't move, but Desmond got up to root around for antiseptic and bandages, pausing long enough to grab a roll of surgical tape with consideration to his shoulder wounds.

Shaun watched quietly as Desmond dumped the whole armload on his cot and his eyebrows went straight into his hairline when he keenly noticed Subject 17's hands go for his jeans. "What in the name of God are you doing, Miles?"

Desmond pointed down at the gouges and rips in his jeans with a short, "I'm not going to damn well dress those wounds with my pants on." His eyes snapped up to Shaun for a moment. "Don't look if you can't handle it."

"Ow" was the only word Shaun could think of to describe that particular barb. He want to turn around, but foolish pride kept him right where his was, amber eyes resolute and his jaw squared. "What makes you think I can't handle it?"

Desmond's smirk was far more telling then the words he wanted to shoot back. He just undid the button and fly of his jeans and yanked them down far enough that he could kick them off, taking his socks with them as part of a normal habit.

_At least he wasn't lying about the injuries,_ Shaun figured as he eyed up the numerous gashes and bruises that littered Desmond's toned legs. _When does he find the time to work out… Oh, dear Lord, no…_ He almost slapped his forehead, but refrained to avoid any questions. _Just don't talk, look at the floor, and everything will be… the hell?_ Silence wasn't as important as curiosity when he noticed a deep cut high on the inside of Desmond's left leg. "Do I want to ask?"

"About?" Desmond inquired.

"That cut on your thigh," Shaun replied with an ease that was totally faked.

"I didn't see the knife Savaş was hiding up his sleeve until I tried to kick his head off his shoulders," Desmond replied as he tended to a cut across the back of his left calf, not so much as wincing as he dabbed the injury with alcohol. "He has a concussion and I have a weird ass cut on my leg." He held a clean pad under his leg and grabbed the hydrogen peroxide from the pile, uncapping it to pour a fair amount onto the wound.

"Yes, I noticed you were wearing boots," Shaun grumbled with a not-so fond glance at his stomach where a bruise was sure to exist. "Steel toed, aren't they?"

"Damn straight." Desmond washed the wound again with the hydrogen peroxide before he dried and dressed it with an over-sized band-aid. "They tend to hurt more."

Shaun knew he should get up and show some initiative to tend his own wounds, but he found himself rather preoccupied with studying Desmond as he took care of himself. He had to give the Assassin's descendant credit for being in fantastic shape –_built like a fucking god_ had gone through his head at least once– and decided that was grounds to recant his opinion of the man being a couch potato.

"Take care of yourself," Desmond finally grumbled before he threw a wad of sealed bandages at Shaun's head.

Shaun caught the wad before it even hit him and set it down by his side. In short order, he caught the rest of the necessary supplies and sight of something that made him pause and eventually suck in a short breath.

"_You're bleeding!"_

"_So are you, genius."_

"Because_ of me." He ripped the bottom of his already ruined shirt and tied it around the other's shoulder as a makeshift bandage, flinching when the younger teen hissed at the tightness of the scrap. "I'm sorry… Huh?" He looked down when a hand touched his arm and felt another rise of bile when he was forced to confront the injury that he had tried so hard to ignore._

"_It was just my turn to watch your ass, that's all. Now, c'mon, we've gotta go or we're gonna be saying 'hi' to Mila and Tony way sooner than I want to."_

"Hey!"

Shaun blinked and focused on Desmond to realize that he was staring at the scar on the man's right shoulder, a circular network of spidery scar tissue that could only be caused by a bullet. He had seen the wound before and hadn't thought anything of it, pawned it off as a novice mistake from his early training days. _But… I know where it came from…_ He felt a wave of guilt that was old and muted, but still shocking in its power after so many years.

"Shaun, you're creeping me out," Desmond growled.

"I just… hand me the bloody supplies," Shaun snapped. He grunted when a wad of bandages hit his already abused temple and he managed to catch the rest of the things Desmond practically hurled at him. He removed his glasses and set them on the table betweeen him and Desmond, just to make sure that if he did look up, he wouldn't be able to see much. He had to think, had to get a handle on himself before he went totally insane from the faceless flashes that rose from the mire of his memory in too quick of a procession to process.

Shaun first had to confront a forerunner to his problems, the one Desmond had addressed with painstaking honesty. He chided the man about his ancestors and his own suspected orientation, but it was a defensive mechanism developed from taking one too many hits himself. If he tried harder, he knew he could convince himself that Subject 17 was no more than another face in the rabble, but that would have been a bold-faced lie. So, Shaun had to admit to himself that he snapped, barked, and drove Desmond away because it was easier then admitting that he'd fallen for him.

That admission hurt a lot less then Shaun thought it would; he dared to think that it was a bit refreshing to be honest with himself, something he hadn't done since his childhood.

Second problem was the harder one.

Shaun was a clinical man that seemed to see only black and white, when in reality, he saw shades of gray. Some things were black or white for him, things like, "I either was there or I wasn't" or "I can't be an Assassin if I don't remember training as one". That was bullshit, because the more time went by –the more Desmond pried at his defenses– the more he had to face one of many skeletons in his closet. The facts were all there; they had been buried after trauma, locked away to be found someday or left to obscurity, all safe behind a veil of forced amnesia.

But, the veil had been pierced and Shaun knew he had to own up to a past he had smothered with lies. _I was born in England, my father died in an accident when I was four, and my mother worked days as a defense instructor and History professor. My brother and I were trained to be Assassins like we knew our mother to be and we worked with local and international groups through the years…_

The rest wasn't so easy to admit and it hurt to force the words out, even in thought.

_After my fifteenth birthday, the New York stronghold sent a troublesome novice to Mom after hearing of her expertise in training. He was crude, brash, typically American and he rubbed me the wrong way… God did he rub me the wrong way, but Anthony loved him, thought it was cool to have another kid in the house who would actually play with him. We all trained and me and him fought incessantly, over every little thing we could think of. I gleaned his given name from those fights, loud-mouthed as he was. It came to a point where the rivalry got out of hand and I… I almost killed him. I had to realize then that he had stopped fighting me a long time ago and he admitted that he cared about me too much to hurt me any longer. _

Shaun paused with that thought and glanced up to see Desmond's blurry form working quietly on the gash that decorated his thigh. In the heat of battle, he hadn't considered the flash of memory that had almost cost him his head, but he could mull it over in silence and he felt a pang when a very, very important notion occurred to him.

_We… we didn't just work together for those next two years. We were t-together…_ Even internally, he stuttered over the word, but he was more focused on that train of thought. _He's retained his memory, whereas I blocked everything out. He knew me when we met again and he's said nothing this whole time…_ The gears started turning faster and faster. _Is that the root of the anger and aggression, that he can't say anything? He said that he was tired of trying to get close to me…_ Innuendo stacked on ambiguity collapsed on Shaun and he had to stop what he was doing and talk, scream, _something_ before the procession of realization and memory undid him.

Shaun got up with the intention of helping Desmond with his wounds to open conversation back up and he went as far as to stand over Desmond and put his hands on the man's shoulders.

_Wide, gray-brown eyes stared up at him, teeth worrying his lip as the younger tried to figure out what he'd done to incur his elder's wrath this time. Briefly, he decided that he was in for a pummeling for letting his mouth move before his brain and then stoically reasoned that he'd dealt with the bashing before, so what was one more?_

_He just grabbed the wide-eyed novice by the jaw and did the first thing that came to mind…_

Hell, it had worked before, hadn't it? Desmond had tried to bear his soul to Shaun and had gotten turned down violently, leading to a short spat between the two that had ended in ways they couldn't have guessed. If history repeated itself, Shaun was par for the course and he cradled Desmond's jaw to force him to look up.

"Shaun, what are you–"

Just like before, Shaun moved right in and shocked Desmond halfway into catatoia with a firm, solid kiss on the lips. He refused to let up when hands went to his shoulders to try to push him away and persisted still when his lip was bitten almost through in a last-ditch effort to scare him off. It wasn't until the need for air became desperate that Shaun pulled back and he was smirking like the arrogant bastard he was because Desmond hadn't just sat there after biting him.

"What… the fuck?" Desmond panted as he wiped his hand over his mouth, taking no action to move Shaun's hands from his shoulders.

"I done lying," Shaun replied, "and that worked before, so I hoped it would work again."

Desmond opened his mouth, closed it, then blinked at Shaun. _He_ remembered the first time Shaun had kissed him, but he was floored that _Shaun_ remembered. "Then you… did you actually recover your memory?"

"It's spotty, but the most important things have come back to me," Shaun admitted. "I'm sorry, Desmond."

"For what?"

"You were quiet this whole time and took the abuse."

Desmond smiled wryly. "I think someone in my family did that once too."

Shaun couldn't help but laugh, a sound that turned into a yelp when he was yanked down for another hard kiss. "You took very well to that first advance," he stated when he was released, lips swollen and a light blush scrawled across the bridge of his nose. "I think you punched me last time."

"Yeah…" Desmond cleared his throat and tried to figure out if Shaun really did have some great epiphany or if this whole thing was going to lead right back to their typical warring. "Listen, it's been a real crazy couple of days and…" He paused, looked from Shaun's chest to his wayward hand, and his expression went dead flat. "Do the words 'I'm tired' ring a bell, Hastings?"

"I remember disregarding them, if that's what you mean," Shaun retorted.

Desmond plucked the wandering hand from his hip and held it up with the same flat expression. "Seriously, it's been crazy and I don't want shit coming from snap decisions. That aside, I'm beaten to a goddamned pulp and I really do just want to sleep." He maintained his deadpan stare until Shaun sighed and sat down on his cot. "That's not a 'no', so don't look at me like that. I seriously overdid it today."

"Then let me help you," Shaun stated in a very clinical tone that he was proud of himself for.

"And yourself?"

"I think I know basic first aid."

"So you can take care of your back all by yourself?"

Shaun glanced over his shoulder at the mess of cuts that Desmond had etched into his back with lightning precision. "I will manage, thank you."

"If you're shy, I'll close my eyes, dearie."

Shaun rolled his eyes and retorted, "I will take care of it myself…"

Desmond heard the hitch in Shaun's voice and took note of how the man's hand lingered in particular areas. "I was there when it happened, Shaun. You don't have to hide it from me." He moved to sit by Shaun and rested his right hand over Shaun's left. "It can't be that bad anyway."

Shaun wouldn't be so sure about that. He'd had lovers in the past that had shunned him simply because of the scars that decorated his body and he had developed a fear of anything less than three-quarter sleeve because of the ridicule. At one point, he had bore his scars as proof that he had survived and he was proud of them, but now they just unnerved and shamed him.

"Come on, you could probably map out Manhattan on my back alone," Desmond chided. "Remember, I'm from the devastatingly handsome and cavalier line of dare devils."

"I appreciate your attempt at humor, Desmond, but I can't do it. Too much shit from the past and I just… I won't do it."

"Did I mention that men in my family are stubborn as all sin?"

"No, Desmond."

Desmond took hold of Shaun's arm and swung around to meet his simmering glare evenly. "You are _not_ doing this to me again. You are either going to be honest and open or you're going to go the fuck away." He used his other hand to force the historian to look at him when he tried to avert his gaze. "I know I've said this before, but just _trust_ me, Shaun. I'm not everyone else."

Point; if Desmond was like the rest, he wouldn't had sat for so long and seen him through pain, infection, and fever, fighting for both their lives with nothing more than a worried smile and gentle words. Shaun looked down at his arm and closed his eyes as he tried to work up the nerve to do something as simple as take his shirt off.

"Shaun, I won't hurt you."

"I know."

"Then trust me."

"I don't trust myself." …Wow, brutal honesty was refreshing, Shaun reflected, as he tried to hold Desmond's intense stare. "I'm trying, okay?"

"I'm not asking you to find the first convenient surface and drop your fucking pants," Desmond shot back flatly. "It's a shirt, Hastings."

And put like that, a little voice whispered that Shaun was being childish. Desmond knew the scars he hid, had been there to see every one of them come into being, and he had to trust that, if the Eagle hadn't balked once, he wouldn't the second time.

* * *

"Lucy! Lucylucylucylucy!"

Lucy barely caught Rebecca as the programmer flew at her from the Animus' computer terminal. "Becky, calm down! What's wrong? …Rebecca!" She was dragged across the room unceremoniously with only Rebecca's demented cackles to hint as to the situation. When she was stood in front of the computer, she was greeted by Rebecca's desktop, a Web browser minimized to the taskbar, and an auspicious little panel in the top left corner.

Rebecca grinned, pleased with herself as Lucy leaned in, squinted at the panel, and reeled back with a shrill, "REBECCA CRANE!". "We were right!" she beamed, totally oblivious to the concepts of personal danger and privacy. "You should have seen them a few minutes ago! Better than late-night HBO, baby!"

Lucy stammered and blushed before she thought to turn her back to the computer.

"Aw, come on, Luc!" Rebecca chided. "You've only been trying to get those two together since you brought Des here! It finally worked!"

"You can't see the injuries they inflicted on each other this afternoon," Lucy retorted.

"Violence and sex are parallel centers in the brain."

"Which can argue to both points."

"…But you're trying not to grin."

Lucy sighed and did smile as she turned to face Rebecca. "Okay, caught. I would love to think that this isn't a fluke, but I'm not going to throw a party until they stop beating each other to a pulp, physically and verbally."

Rebecca flopped down in her chair with a pout. "Don't be a killjoy!"

Lucy grinned and reeled around to lean against the back of Rebecca's chair, reaching out to close out the security camera window. "Let them have their privacy, Peeping Tom."

"Okay, but… you really are happy, right?" Rebecca had to know, because her and Lucy had gone through some real loops to force Shaun and Desmond into the same area, down to making them work together during the sessions in hopes of breaking the ice between them.

Lucy nodded and brushed her hair back from her face. "If this is what we hope it is, I'm very happy, especially in light of what Desmond found out."

"Yeah, totally fairytale," Rebecca swooned.

"But that's no excuse to go hacking the security cameras."

"I won't!"

"I'm having them removed from the men's shower room."

"Lucy, no fair!"

* * *

**I'm going to regret staying up this late when I wake up in the morning and sit down to tackle basic arithmetic operations in bases other than ten, but I wanted this out of my head! ...Let's hope I don't look back at this when I've actually slept and (as I've mentioned before) wonder what in the fuck I was thinking. XD Anyway, I'm going to throw the warning out now for the next handful of chapters: SPOILERS! I'll be taking license with the scenes, but there's going to be a bit of an increased focus on the Animus sessions, and the memories will be from the game. I'll try to keep it to a dull roar, but I thought I should hand out a fair warning now. *goes and hides in a corner*  
**


	11. And So Shall the Present Pass

_|SPOILER ALERT!|_

_If you haven't played through to Sequence 11 in AC2 and you don't want to be spoiled, I'm sorry! *flinches* But, I gave fair warning!_

_

* * *

  
_

**Ezio panted as he **_**finally**_** put that damned nimble little **_**bastardo**_** down as he had been itching to do for the past half hour. He knew intercepting the Spaniard's cargo was going to be hard, but this? As he dragged the man to a shadier corner to fleece him, he swore he had been less winded in his rooftop romps across**** Venezia and would probably be less winded if he bounded from roof to roof all across Italia. He knew he hadn't gotten sloppy in his training regimen, so being out of shape didn't account for his being so out of breath, but something did occur to him as he stripped of the last of the dead guard's armor.**

**That was the first time he had needed to be so nimble since he had found the last of the seals and he suddenly found himself cursing Altaϊr and his**** genius idea for "invincible armor". "Invincible, only if you have no need to run," Ezio muttered darkly to himself. "My ancestor must have thought himself a real smart man, designing such heavy armor for an **_**Assassino**_**…"**

**Ezio continued to complain as he stripped his own armor off to replace it with what he had "liberated" from the guard, focusing on thinking nasty things about his predecessor to distract himself from what he was about to do.**

"Luc, he's losing synch."

"It's the pressure of the moment. He'll be fine, Rebecca."

"Are you–"

"I said he'll be fine!"

**The time for fun and games was over when Ezio heard the guards approaching and he double timed to switch armor out, tying his hair up tighter before he slipped the helmet on. A once over confirmed that nothing suspicious was in sight and he was in order, so he grabbed the box he had chased across the better part of Venezia and stood at attention right as the honor guard appeared.**

"**Is everything in order?"**

"**Yessir, it is, sir," Ezio replied in the same clipped tones he heard every other guard use.**

"**Then let's go."**

**Ezio stepped into the center of the ring of guards and took a deep breath as they started forward, hands on their half-drawn swords as they started into the city. He had to focus on keeping his steps well-timed and his breathing even, fixate on keeping his sweaty palms firmly attached to the box, anything but the anxiety of who he was about to face.**

"Lucy, this is getting dangerous. I'm not a doctor, but I can tell that those readings are not normal."

"Rebecca, Shaun, if this were getting dangerous, I would stop it, wouldn't I?"

"He has been in the Animus for six, almost seven days now, with maybe two hours of good, solid rest. If this is how you treat the descendants, you're going a damn fine job of convincing _me_ to do that."

"Are you looking for a fight?"

"If you don't pull Desmond out and give him a proper rest, you had better bet I am."

Faintly from somewhere in the background, a machine started to screech, but it went unnoticed by anyone in the room.

**Every step felt heavier then the last, until the simple task of walking seemed more of a chore than running in his ancestor's idea of impervious armor. His skin felt like it was stretched tight over his bones, threatening to tear without warning. Sweat burned against his brow under the heavy helmet, his heart beat in his chest like a frightened bird, and all Ezio could do was keep marching and looking forward. He had never been so anxious in his life and reasoned that he had never been so close to completing a task, delivering the divine punishment he had fought so long for.**

"His stats are dropping. Lucy, we have to stop!"

_What am I doing now? …Why are they all screaming, it's distracting me and Ezio's distracting enough…_

"It'll be fine… Shaun, don't you dare!"

"Corpses have better vitals, Stillman."

The screeching machines suddenly silenced and the room's lighting dropped as the Animus 2.0 went dark and started its emergency desynchronization commands. The screen by Rebecca announced in large red letters that synch had been lost and the killswitch stood over the infernal contraption with the plug in hand, amber eyes blazing as he dared Lucy to come at him.

"What the fuck, guys?!" were Desmond's first waking words in almost thirty-six hours.

Shaun threw the cord down and crossed his arms, eyes still locked with Lucy's as she tried to figure out how to kill him. "Stillman here is trying to throw you in a grave next to Sixteen."

Mildly disoriented from the tense atmosphere, the sudden ejection, and the feedback from Ezio's anxiety had Desmond casting about in confusion. "How long was I under?"

"Thirty-six hours, twenty-three minutes, fifty-one seconds," Rebecca replied quietly. "You were starting to go into Coma Land on us and Shaun, um, pulled the plug."

Desmond looked to Shaun and found that the man was irate, damn near ready to kill by the looks of it. "If it was dangerous, she would have stopped it," he pointed out tentatively.

Shaun finally broke eye contact with Lucy to glare at Desmond. "Her idea of dangerous anymore is waiting until you're about to flatline before pulling you out." He sighed then and took a deep breath, reminding himself that Desmond didn't deserve to be snapped at. "Sorry about the rough wake-up, but I'm not going to see you dead because the tart over here is in a rush."

Desmond sat up and moved so that his legs dangled off of the edge of the Animus 2.0, his brain slowly sorting itself out. He did feel like shit, that much he had to admit, and for as stiff as he was he had no hard time believing that he'd been under for almost three full days. "It's fine… Thanks for stopping it."

Shaun nodded and laid a hand on Desmond's shoulder as he growled out, "I'm going to leave for a bit and if he's back under when I come back, I'm going to shed blood, understood?"

"Yeah," Rebecca squeaked meekly as Lucy floundered in shock and rage for having been overturned.

Desmond just watched Shaun storm out of the room and got his head back together, carefully cataloguing the aches and pains that plagued him. "That is dangerous, Lucy. I feel like I lost a fight with a lawn mower and then tripped into a wood chipper."

"It was _fine_," Lucy practically snarled.

Desmond scrubbed his hands over his face and knew by the stubble he felt that it had been days since he'd moved. "You've never kept me under that long. I have no track of time in that damned thing, so I trust you to pull me out when I'm past the safe zone."

"But–"

Desmond got up in a symphony of cracking bones and stretched until he felt every vertebra in his back pop. "I'm going to go find Shaun before someone gets hurt. When we come back, we'll go at it again." He rolled his shoulders until they cracked as well and got to his feet, flinching when his knees groaned in protest.

"You sound like an old tree in a stiff wind," Lucy dared to comment.

"I wonder why that is?" Desmond rolled his eyes and kept his gait steady as he left the room despite his body's demand for him to hunch over and hobble out. He glanced around the hallway and found nothing, which he had honestly expected, and his Sight easily revealed a nice, glittering gold path for him to follow.

The trail led down into the warehouse and lazily sprawled across the floor, leading to the back exit and, eventually, a set of stairs that led up and out to the roof. Desmond followed the trail to the stairs and stopped, hesitating long enough to think that maybe Shaun didn't want anyone chasing after him. _But,_ he argued with himself,_ I've never seen him that upset. It may start a fight if I go after him, but it may do more harm later if I do nothing._

So, Desmond followed the trail up the stairs and to the door, hesitating one more time before he pushed the heavy steel door open and stepped out into the sweltering August heat. His Sight cut out when he found Shaun sitting on the edge of the stronghold, back to him and shoulders tense. "Hey… Mind some company?" he asked to announce his presence.

One terse shoulder canted in a shrug.

Desmond figured that was as good as he was going to get and went to sit next to Shaun, legs pulled up Indian style and sweatshirt quickly coming off in the stifling heat. "Thank you, Shaun."

"I did what I had to do."

"No, I mean it," Desmond insisted. "I can't tell what in the fuck is going on around me sometimes. I can keep myself partially aware and that's good enough to avoid being shanked, but that doesn't always mean I can tell when I'm pushing too hard. Between my insistence and Lucy's urgency to finish, much longer might have killed me."

Shaun just huffed and wiped the sweat from his face, refusing to remove the barest stitches of clothing. "It was selfish, nothing more."

"Huh?" That statement just made no sense to Desmond.

"I did not commit myself to reestablishing a relationship with you just to have some homicidal bitch up and kill you, so I disengaged the Animus. See, selfish?"

Desmond leaned forward a little, perfectly at ease with how high off the ground he was. "Come on, this is the first time I've seen you since we had that fall-out and this is what I'm going to get?" He nudged Shaun gently with his shoulder and took it as a good sign when his head wasn't bitten off. "You know, I remember Malik used to take to heights when he was angry, used to piss Altaϊr off."

"Must be a genetic habit," Shaun replied quietly.

Desmond grinned and cradled his jaw in his hand. "Remember when we were kids, you had that one tree that you always hide in?"

"Yes, faintly."

"Remember the one day Mila laid into you for going too hard on Tony? I tried to get you out of that tree and we both wound up in the hospital with broken bones. Little Anthony was laughing so hard I thought he was going to bust a lung and Mila wasn't far behind him."

"We did look pretty pathetic," Shaun countered. "I still can't believe that she yelled at us for fighting in a tree."

Desmond was pleased to hear real recognition in Shaun's voice and dared to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "You really are trying to break that amnesia, aren't you?"

Shaun nodded and retorted, "While at the same time you seem determined to put yourself into a coma."

"Hey, we're all anxious because this is the end. I mean, last time was a little different because of Abstergo, but we rushed at the end then, we're going to go it now, and with whatever else we find floating around my head."

"Is it worth it?"

"Totally."

Shaun didn't look convinced, but hearing the conviction in Desmond's voice helped to smooth his ruffled feathers and calm his fears. "Do you think you can handle one last push?"

"Yeah and then some." Desmond patted Shaun on the shoulder and got to his feet, offering his hand to help the other man up. "I heard you say something about Lucy scaring you away from the Animus for good. Does that mean that you're considering…?"

"Maybe," Shaun replied sternly, to keep Desmond's hopes at bay.

Desmond cast about for Shaun's crutches and his brows furrowed when he didn't find any. "Um…"

"Walking cast," Shaun explained as he headed for the door. "I was tired of gimping about and those things are unbelievably cumbersome."

"Remember, I broke my leg when we fell out of that tree. I _know_ how annoying they are."

"Oh, yes."

"…You don't remember that part, do you?"

"No."

Desmond smiled and followed Shaun back to the Animus room in comfortable silence. The time out of the Animus, however short, had helped to clear his head and now that all of the kinks had been worked out, he was surprised by how good he felt. _Like I could on a whole damned army…_ It was a sensation he keenly recalled from his sessions, the quiet line of power that ran under the surface, waiting to be tapped.

"If you start to flatline, I'll pull the plug again," Shaun warned before he opened the door. "You might all be gun-ho to finish this, but I am not going to see you dead for it."

"I know," Desmond replied. "I'll try to track it myself the best I can." He felt cagey and skipping out to go run laps around the obstacle course sounded more appealing than going back under. _But it's got to be done. We're excited, but we're all tired too. When this is over, I can back flip my way out of here._

"After you," Shaun prompted.

Desmond bowed and sidled into the room with an easy, "Okay, crisis past. Let's get this shit over with!"

* * *

"And then there were four," Tavares chuckled as he watched the last of the Assassins filter out of the stronghold. He shifted his weight slightly to retrieve his cell phone, but he didn't dial in any numbers immediately. He wanted to think first, chew on the sparse but valuable information he had accidentally retrieved.

His foremost thought was disappointment, that he wouldn't be able to see Vidic's face when he told the man that the existence of a second Maysaf descendant was confirmed. _And I would kill to see his reaction when I tell him that the Jackal's line did survive._ He knew the prophecy the same as Vidic, the same as both the Assassins and Templars, but God would it be funny to see the doctor when he realized that the prophecy was happening _now_.

"Hundreds of years from now… ha." Tavares tilted his gaze up to regard the city that sprawled out before him, his smile darkening as his mind supplied a vision of a dead city, devoid of sound and lined with obedient drones following their masters' objectives in hive-minded harmony. _But the rise of the Jackal could put an end to that. By the time the Templars interjected in Hassassin affairs, Malik and Alta__ϊr had united the clans spanning the better part of the Middle East. They did it in a few short years, but those two were tenacious; Miles and Hastings moreso than their ancestors._

Tavares had a feeling that he would be getting an order against one of the two of them eventually, since Abstergo only needed _one_ Maysaf Assassin. He put his money on the lucky survivor being Desmond, since Vidic already had regimented data on the man, though he hated to count Shaun out. _It'll be difficult, but I may want to convince the conciliate to consider leaving them both alive for a time. If this second codex Miles stumbled upon belongs to Malik, we'll need Hastings to find out what its importance is. Actually… we don't even _need_ Miles anymore. We have the location of the Pieces of Eden, what good is the _niño_ to us?_

The _Asesino_ shrugged to himself and flipped his cell phone open to send Vidic a text message, loathe as he was to listen to the Templar prattle his ear off.

**The stronghold will be empty through the early morning – Miles is hours from completing the Auditore memories. Recommendation is to strike after dark to insure nothing goes wrong. Passcodes to the stronghold are attached, so try to remember that at least two of those remaining are Assassins and be quiet.**

The last part was out of spite, since Tavares knew Vidic's love for flashy entrances, and didn't care what the doctor thought of him. His mission for the Templars was complete for the moment and he jumped from his perch to move into the crowded streets to begin another for the Assassins.

The pieces were lined up, the Animus team was delivered to the Templars, and no one would ever suspect that one of their own had betrayed them.

* * *

**He knelt on shaking legs, the chest feeling like a hundred pounds in his arms and the armor only felt heavier as Ezio tried so hard to contain himself. He kept screaming silently, over and over, that he wasn't a brash boy anymore, couldn't afford to make hasty moves and deal with the mess later. This was one shot and one shot only; very literally if the rumors about the **_**bastardo's**_** tenacity and perchance for escapes hadn't been overblown.**

"**You have it. You were not followed?"**

**Ezio sucked in a deep breath at the grating baritone that he solely associated with Borgia and he fought harder against the impulse to drop all else and ram his hidden blades through the Spaniard's skull. His eyes were capable of killing as he glared at the back of the guard's skull as he assured Borgia that no one had followed them. His fingers itched and he could hear the phantom slide of his hidden blade and the reassuring crunch of bone and before he realized what had happened, the guard before him fell dead mid-sentence.**

_**Merda! So much for having learned self-control!**_** Ezio still had the advantage and, by the stunned reactions, might have given himself an extra measure by which to assassinate Borgia with. **_**Okay, so maybe it-**_

"**Ezio," Borgia purred as he drew his sword. "It's been some time."**

**Ezio heard weapons come to bear behind him and he found he had to the time to sigh. **_**I make my own misery,**_** he reminded himself as he dropped the chest and threw his arms out, wrists singing as both hidden blades plunged through the faces of the two guards that were stupid enough to try and detain him. He could make the best of this still (at least the guards were gone) and anger boiled to the surface as he strutted forward a few steps to growl the man's name and demand, "So, where is he?" in a voice he barely recognized as his own.**

**Confusion furrowed Rodrigo's brow for a scarce moment as he asked, "Who?" in a tone that fell just short of convincingly innocent.**

**Ezio still indulged the man his false ignorance and his own desire to rub the facts in his face. "Your Prophet. Doesn't look like anyone showed up, Rodrigo." And goddamnit, how could that **_**cretino**_** smile at him like that; the look spurred his anger to new heights and he flung his arm down to indicate the chest. "How many people died for this, for what's in this box? And look," he gestured around widely, "there's nobody here."**

**Borgia just continued to smile and laughed as if he **_**knew**_** it was goading Ezio on. "You claim to be a believer," he retorted smartly, "and yet here you are. Don't you see him? The Prophet is already here."**

**Ezio's mind went into overdrive and he had to fight the urge to scan the area again. There were only him and Borgia present now that the guards were dispatched of and he doubted one as important as the Prophet would hide in shadow to watch the two duel to the death. Vaguely, he thought that hanging around in shadows, waiting for the combatants to die, then swooping down to steal the goods was more the style of a man like **_**La Volpe**_**. **

**Surely, the Prophet was too virtuous to employ such methods.**

"**I am the Prophet."**

**Ezio's mind then stopped working even as his instincts screamed at him to counter the longsword that was raised towards him. **_**Borgia is the Prophet? How can he… how can that be true?**_** But, he had no other evidence to suggest otherwise and his thoughts tripped and stammered over that one line until Borgia snarled at him to hand over the Apple. **_**That**_** kicked rationality back into gear and Ezio crooked his arms at the elbow to wave Borgia towards him. "Come and take it from me," he challenged in the same dark tones.**

**Borgia's stance was hidden by his robes, but the position of his arms told volumes of how he would fight. "Is this all you have? Where are the rest of your people?" he taunted. **

**Ezio felt a flash of confusion as he drew his longsword and dagger. "What people?" **

"**You have no idea, do you?" Borgia smirked and proved Ezio's theory that he'd play dirty by screaming, "GUARDS!"**

**Bene**_**,**_** grazie**_** for making my life harder, **_**cretino**_**.**_** Ezio flipped his dagger into a backhanded grasp and readied himself for what was looking like a hell of a fight by the looks of the guards filing in. **_**My only concern is Borgia; the rest can rot in hell**_**. He nodded faintly to himself and offered a prayer as he lunged through the throng of guards straight at Borgia. Steel whined against steel as his opening strike was caught and he danced back and away from the Spaniard.**

**Borgia pressed in and Ezio twisted to the side, his dagger striking the empty air that billowed Borgia's cape, longsword occupied in the belly of a guard that thought it wise to sneak up on an **_**Assassino**_**. He pulled his sword free and found himself surrounded by guards, curses flying from his lips as he threw his blades up in an asymmetrical cross to catch the duo of blades that came at his head. He kicked the men back and one smart, horizontal lick of his blade dispatched them to their maker.**

**Ezio heard a chuckle in the air and followed it, closing in on Borgia again with merciless force. He took a hit across the arm and was rewarded with his dagger cutting a deep gouge in Borgia's chest, his heart leaping with excitement when the Spaniard's rich violet cloak peeled in half, blossoming into a bloody bloom that made the man seem less immortal.**

**The sight of the wound and blood drove Ezio to new heights of viciousness and any guard stupid enough to draw close was quartered without a second thought. He beat against Borgia's defenses again and again, feeling like an animal, like someone had unleashed a demon, and his only thought was of sinking his blades into the Spaniard's throat. **

**But, Borgia wasn't to be underestimated and he bided his time, taking Ezio's abuses until it was clear that the **_**Assassino**_** had worn himself down. "Novice," he snarled low in his throat as he lunged into his own offensive, beating Ezio back and down until it looked like he wouldn't be able to get back up.**

**The last blow sent Ezio skidding, his gut screaming from the kick and shoulder singing from the gouge, but he got back to his feet anyway. It was then he heard the scuffle of boots against the flagstones and he almost fainted in relieved shock when he saw reassuring blue that resolved itself into the last person he thought he'd see. "Uncle!"**

**Brash and jovial as ever despite the dangers, Mario flagged his sword and replied, "Don't worry, **_**nipote**_**, you are not alone!"**

**Ezio didn't have time to be much more surprised, a flash of red warning him to get the hell out of the way and he braced to ram his dagger through the guard's throat. He saw the guard stumble and couldn't brace in time, tumbling backwards as the guard fell dead beside him; a familiar chuckle and Ezio found himself back on his feet and staring at **_**La Volpe**_**.**

**Antonio and Bartolomeo appeared in good time and Ezio could only nod in dumb shock when the former barked at him to keep the chest from Borgia.**

"**Might you consider less standing and more fighting, my boy?" **_**La Volpe**_** inquired as he flashed past in a crimson spray of guards' blood. "Conducive to the cause you know."**

**Ezio almost laughed at the way the self-proclaimed thief could talk, tease him, **_**and**_** fight like a genius at the same time. All the same, he plunged back into battle, a bloody hurricane in the throngs of reinforcements, buffered by the knowledge that he **_**wasn't**_** alone. With his own reinforcements (however surprising their presence was), the guards were cut down to one that Bartolomeo dispatched with a raucous whoop and then it was just Borgia.**

**Ezio gathered up the last vestiges of strength and stalked forward with his longsword in hand – he was going to enjoy this. He came up on Borgia, sword raised, teeth bared as he snarled, "This is for my–"**

**And Borgia's foot was in his gut and he skidded backwards, defeat and fatigue bitter tastes in the back of his throat as he looked up in time to see the tattered ends of a rich velvet cape flutter down an alleyway. Before he could lash out, scream and curse, he smelled something familiar… like dried roses, sad, but beautiful, and he looked up to find Paola standing over him. **

"**He's gone," she murmured as she offered a delicate hand to Ezio. "But, we have what we came for."**

**Anger flared again and when he was on his feet, he brushed Paola's hand away and snarled, "No! I need to go after him!" If he could leave now, take to the rooftops, he could still bring the **_**bastardo**_** down that night.**

"**Do you really now?"**

**Ezio wasn't sure **_**what**_** he was going to do if one more ally popped out of the shadows at him and he gaped at Teodora for a brief moment, not sure of what to say as she asked if he was there for another reason. He wanted to snip at her and tell her that he had actually come to admire the view, but stayed his tongue. Instead, he asked the very question that had burned on his tongue from the moment he had laid eyes on Mario: "What are you all doing here?"**

**Another, unfamiliar man stepped out of Antonio's shadow with a very vague, but surprising, "Maybe we were hoping to see the Prophet?"**

"**And I came here to kill the Spaniard," Ezio shot back, feeling better with a quip off his chest. He saw Antonio's moustache twitch and **_**La Volpe**_** cover his mouth to hide a smile, while the others merely disregarded his tongue as a ramification of a bad mood. "I could care less for your Prophet," he noticed **_**La Volpe**_** looked ready to ruin the solemn moment with laughter, "he never showed up."**

"**No, but you did," the same man replied evenly.**

**Ezio was right back to stupid speechlessness and he swore he was ready to keel over and check out for the night (or next fortnight given the time he'd had) when Niccolò **_**actually**_** dared to suggest that **_**he**_** was the Prophet.**

_Yeah right, and I'm the savior of humanity._

"**Who are you?" Ezio finally thought to demand.**

"**Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli and I am an Assassin, just like you and each one of us here."**

**Yes, Ezio wanted to check out; Borgia had escaped, he was beaten to a fine paste, informed by a stranger he could be the Prophet, and that everyone he knew was an Assassin. Fact was stranger than fiction, good night… He sighed and pulled himself together, ridding himself of such thoughts because he knew his attention really was needed. Comfort and some semblance of reality came to him when Mario approached and told him that it was true, that his allies were brothers and sisters who had honed his talents over the years, all for the day when he would become a true **_**Assassino**_**.**

**Antonio, business-minded as ever, stepped up and handed Ezio a sheaf of paper with instructions to meet the group on location at sunset. **

"Lunch break!"

Desmond groaned when reality snap shifted back to the present, all to the tune of Rebecca's ridiculously happy exclamation. Then, it occurred to him what had been said and he gaped. "It's noon already?"

"One o'clock, to be precise," Shaun corrected. "What, did you think that only took half an hour?"

"Seemed like it," Desmond groaned as he sat up and shuffled the phantom pangs of injuries that weren't his from the real aches that had come back. "What's lunch," and his stomach growled loudly, seemingly angry at him for the recent neglect, "I'm starving." He went cross-eyed when a bag was hovered in front of his face and he smelled hamburger.

"Savaş and Nikolai dropped by–"

"Almost literally," Rebecca interjected.

"–to pick up a couple of things they had forgotten," Lucy continued. "Apparently, Nikolai realized we didn't have anything to eat and brought lunch."

"Convenient," Desmond grumbled as he pulled a hamburger and French fries from the bag. He felt a little uneasy about eating fast food, since he had put himself on a regimented diet when he started training, but figured that one meal wasn't going to ruin his hard work. "So, any idea if we're even remotely close to the end now? I mean, that was some major shit Ezio had dropped on his head."

"My all accounts, we're just about done," Lucy replied and it appeared as though her former zeal had been properly quelled after the outbreak of tempers earlier. "How do you feel? Do you want to stop for the day?"

"No," Desmond answered and he neatly stacked French fries in a puddle of onion ring sauce he had heisted from Rebecca. "Not only do I want this over with, but I'm curious to see what in the hell happens." That said, he took a whopping bite of his hamburger that had everyone staring at the half and some odd of sandwich that remained. "Whaf?" he demanded. "M'hungry!"

Shaun chuckled and sipped off his soda with a soft, "We can't tell."

Lunch passed in companionable silence for the first time in a while, no bad blood or arguments present to sour the mood, and everyone liked it that way. They felt more like a team that way, more like they truly were brothers and sisters under the same Creed, fighting for a unified cause. The strife was normal too, but this felt _right_ to the four of them.

Then, Shaun went and broke the silence. "Lucy, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Has the Animus ever been used on an amnesiac subject before?"

Lucy paused and Desmond almost snickered when he imagined the French fry she left dipped in catsup was screaming for mercy under the surface. "Well… I know that Subject Five was mnemophobic and she was led through the memory blocks without anymore feedback than normal, but that's as close as I can come to amnesia. Theoretically, it's perfectly possible because we're not technically probing the physical memory."

"Why's that?" Rebecca asked, ever the intuitive one.

Shaun pointed an onion ring at Desmond and replied, "When the couch potato is done and _before_ he goes diving back into Altaϊr's life, I want… to see if there is actually something of use hidden in this head of mine."

Dead silence.

Desmond had been trying to warm Shaun up to the idea, unbeknownst to the women, and they were all shocked that Shaun was actually volunteering his services.

"Don't look at me like that," Shaun grumbled. "I will not go into detail; all that needs to be said is that I am obligated to do this, especially if it helps the Brotherhood pull ahead of the Templars." He tilted his head back and caught the onion ring he launched into the air, trying to ignore the looks he was receiving.

"Are you sure about that?" Lucy inquired hesitantly. "If you _are_ amnesiac, it may remove the blocks that were put in place and… it could get messy… Sixteen messy."

Shaun tilted his chair back upright. "Trauma-induced amnesia breaks in most cases anyway and I need the information hidden in my own brain the same as we need the information hidden in my DNA, so why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"You're going to have to start from the beginning," Desmond warned, "if not close to the beginning. The idiots at Abstergo –no offense Lucy– tried to throw me right into the memory that contained the answer and the shock put me right into a coma. You've seen how slow the process is…"

"And from what I saw recently, you've gained a great deal from the experience," Shaun replied. "A novice-class Assassin with the skills of a master-class. It can't be all bad."

"Aside from hallucinations and flashbacks and nightmares, it's fun." Desmond was being downright sarcastic and he knew nothing he'd say would deter Shaun. The man was stubborn, if nothing else, and he was ultimately _proud_ that he man had decided to step up. "And stop reminding me that I'm a novice still."

Lucy laughed at the broody remark. "Not for much longer, Desmond. When you're done with Ezio's memories, I'm going to call a consensus from the Masters and see if you won't be able to undergo the Trial and, hopefully, the Initiation."

Eating wasn't as important as gaping and Desmond stared at Lucy with round eyes. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm not," Lucy chuckled. "Like Shaun said, you've got all the skills and smarts – you just need the rank. Besides, I do believe the Hassassin descendants are tired of going without."

_Oh yeah…_ Desmond finished his hamburger in another ponderous bite. _The Maysaf cooperation has refused to elect a new Master Assassin since… Christ, probably since the Third Crusade. They've stuck by their rendition of the prophecy all this time, so they're probably chomping at the bit to find out what the deal with me and Shaun is._

By that point, it was common knowledge (thanks to the wide-spread and omnipotent power of the grapevine) that Desmond was Altaϊr's descendant. Information concerning Shaun's heritage had gotten out just as quickly and everyone was eager to see if the prophecy was at hand, to see if the Eagle and Jackal of Maysaf had returned to wage holy war again.

Desmond thought they were all asking for a bit much and the thought of going from novice to master-class to Master Assassin in such a short time made him ill at ease. "Eh, we'll see where the cards land. For right now, I want to finish my lunch and see if we can't end this now."

"Eager to fry my brain cells?" Shaun chided.

"_Sì_," was Desmond's plaintive reply. "Though, speaking of Altaϊr, has anyone reviewed the records we have to see if we did miss anything?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yep, I checked everything yesterday and what we've seen is what we have. But, now that Shaun's gonna step up and roast his brain next, we're cool."

"Don't sound so bloody _happy_ about it," Shaun rumbled.

Rebecca squealed when a catsup-soaked French fry landed in her hair and she retaliated with the sloppy tomato she had peeled off her sandwich.

Desmond sighed happily and smiled. Silence was nice and felt right, but the bickering and noise was what he was used to and it helped to soothe his nerves, distract him from the fact that he was almost at a handful of ends.

The end of a bitter rivalry with Shaun, the end of his novice training, the end of another ancestor's memories…

Every end had a new beginning and Desmond had to focus on the present, on Shaun and Rebecca and Lucy carrying on, to make the future seem less frightening.

* * *

**Okay, this took longer then I wanted it to. *pouts* Algebra kicked my ass all across the place and it had to be done, so this sort of hit the back burner. But, I'm done Algebra (until Tuesday, at least), so I can write again! Yatta! *dances around* It didn't help that I tried to figure out how to cut out the memory sequences but it was so choppy, I couldn't stand it. I'm going to try to focus the next chapter more on... well, anything BUT Desmond, because I do not want to spoiler a mind-blowing finale to a great game!**

**...Credit cards are evil, FYI. In talking to f0rkins0cket, I found out there's DLC for AC2 now and God help me if I didn't add ANOTHER piddling charge to my Mastercard. But... but, it's Assassin's Creed, goddamnit! Yep, best defense I've got. XD  
**


	12. Use 'Em, Lose 'Em, Waste 'Em

_|~*MASSIVE SPOILER ALERT*~| _

_If you haven't played to the end of Sequence 14 (the end of the game), don't yell at me if I spoil it at the end of the chapter! I did keep everything as vague as possible, but the general point is still there. Good news is, this is the last of the spoilers! _

* * *

"Soooo…"

Rebecca's drawling interjection into the silence was met with a momentary upraising of glances before Shaun and Lucy returned to work. She pursed her lips in a pout and crossed her arms; sometimes she swore that talking to Desmond while he was under would be more entertaining than talking to either of her fully conscious team mates. "Are we pretending to be busy for a reason?"

"I actually have work to do," Shaun replied distractedly as his fingers flew over his keyboard. "Unless you think that the entirety of the stronghold's operations run automatically, which if that is the case, I would like to speak to the person who convinced me otherwise."

Rebecca rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, sprawled comfortably with her arms crossed across her stomach. "All missions are in play, no one's called for assistance, Desmond's running the show solo…"

Lucy finished whatever she was doing and pushed her chair to the side to lean against the paper-strewn surface. "I know you. This is your roundabout way of digging for information."

"No, this is her genuine attempt to make conversation in the spirit of nothing better to do, which she claims has possessed all of us," Shaun shot back.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed and she went for the throat just for the satisfaction of watching Shaun flounder. "When did you decide that you were an Assassin again?"

Bull's-eye; Shaun's fingers stilled and his shoulders went stiff before he turned to glare poison at the woman. "Excuse me, I'm not quite sure I heard you right."

"Well, let's see…" Rebecca tapped her finger against her chin as she pretended to think, aware of the way Lucy was trying to warn her to stand down. "Last time I saw you was in the Boston stronghold and you swore up one side of the universe and down the other that once you could stand up, you were leaving."

Shaun bristled and if Rebecca were looking for a fight, he was ready to give her one. "Last time you saw me I was a bloody fucking mess and damn well lucky that I could remember my name. I knew I wasn't where I passed out, surrounded by people I barely knew, and I was _angry_."

Lucy sighed and tried to interject. "Come on, let's not start a fight. We all agreed when this started that we wouldn't bring up the past."

"Well, it's got to be gone over," Rebecca shot back evenly. "Listen, Shaun, I understand that what happened to you was not only bullshit, but it was traumatic too. I can appreciate the fact that you forgot everything that happened, but… Why come back to it after you denounced the Creed, the Brotherhood, and us?"

_So, seven years pass and she's finally showing how pissed she is. Wonderful._ Shaun pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses and closed his eyes. "This is about my leaving you and Lucy and nothing else."

"We damn well saved your life!" Rebecca retorted, her voice a little sharper than before. "I know we weren't too familiar with you, but it was still a kick in the pants to go through all that trouble to denounce _everything_ associated to the Assassins! That I recall, we helped you set up here in the States, tried our damndest to find the troublemaker back here, and helped you back on your feet through rehab."

"Don't," Shaun warned in a dangerous hiss. "If you want an apology, Rebecca, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I had my family slaughtered in front of me, I'm sorry I dragged you and Lucy across the ocean because someone wanted me out of Britain, and I'm sorry that I wanted to get away from an entity that I knew one day and forgot the next."

"Shaun…" There, Rebecca was now properly subdued.

Shaun did hear the edge of hurt in Rebecca's voice and, when he looked up, he saw the phantoms of a similar pain in Lucy's eyes. _They really were content to just let it rest for the remainder of our lives. But, I start to remember the past and now all the cards have to go on the table. I should have known better._ "If you want to know why I'm returning, blame the Almighty Couch Potato over there."

"But do you think that it's wise?" Lucy asked. "I will give that you were in a bad way when we were sent to retrieve you, so do you think you can handle the stress of training and the Animus at the same time?"

Before anyone could answer, a very low, "Try asking yourselves why you were sent to Britain to get one novice in the first place" interrupted the whole conversation. Everyone glanced at Desmond who remained innocently unconscious, but a check on the brainwave activities showed that he had partial awareness of the real world at the moment.

"_That_ is a very curious question," Shaun murmured. "Did either of you ever find out _why_ the Masters wanted me in the States?"

Lucy shook her head with a frown on her lips. "No, we were just given the assignment and we went as ordered. I know it was high priority and the master-classes with us stressed the importance of finding _you_."

"Awfully specific terms, which means that whoever put the call in knew that only I had survived the assault." The whole notion didn't settle well with him and he suddenly wished that Desmond would be done with the session so that he could pick the man's brain for more facts. _Though…_ "Does anyone think it's possible that someone who was there made the call?"

Lucy knew that look on Shaun's face and asked, "Like who?"

"Desmond. He was there when we went in and the two of us were the only ones to come out… in the month proceeding, he did what he could to keep us safe, but our pursuers were getting to close. He left me God knows where in London and took off, didn't see him again until he walked through the door as a stranger."

"Did he say why he was leaving?" Rebecca inquired quietly.

"Anthony and Mila were as good as his family, why do you think?"

"Revenge then."

"Yes, exactly." Shaun tried to sift through the fog that shrouded his memories and grew frustrated when he could recall nothing but brief flashes, murky voices that he couldn't identify, and more pain then he cared for. "Problem is…" He tapped his temple with a scowl.

"Give it time," Lucy replied gently, "and ask Desmond when he comes out. I'm sure he'll have the answers you're looking for."

Shaun sighed and pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyes, overwhelmed for no reason and every reason in the universe. "All I know is the past seven years have been frustratingly tame for me, fake facades that are fast wearing thin and I'm done with them." He motioned vaguely towards Desmond. "Had he not been so damned persistent, I wouldn't have realized why."

Lucy caught the gentler tone in Shaun's voice and hid a smile behind her hand. "Well, just make sure that you're doing this for _you_ and not because of pressure."

"Trust me, he's not the type," Rebecca sniggered.

"Hardly," Shaun agreed. "Now that that's all out of our systems, can we think about getting back to work before I start to believe that Desmond is actually being more productive then we are?"

* * *

"What the hell?"

Absorbed as he was in trying to figure out their location via GPS, the _Suikastçi_ who had almost taken Desmond to the cleaners in their fight a week prior, Savaş, glanced up at his slack-jawed partner. "What's the…" He trailed off when he noticed the line of sleek black vehicles filing down the main road, not sure what to make of the odd box trucks interspersed in the cavalcade.

The Assassin, Josh, scratched the back of his head and looked back at Savaş uncertainly. "Maybe the President's in town?"

Savaş rolled his eyes and tried to remind himself that, no, not all Americans were so stupid – it was a trait individual to his partner for the mission. "Thinking like that, how have you survived so long?"

"Luck," Josh replied blandly as he watched the last of the SUVs roll by. "Whatever. You don't think that was a little strange?"

Savaş couldn't argue that it was an odd sight, but not too unusual. "This is New York City and I suspect that much stranger things have been seen here. I wouldn't focus too heavily on the matter. My Sight detected nothing usual and I doubt yours did either."

"That doesn't mean that it wasn't weird," Josh shot back and he leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed as he stared unwavering at Savaş as he tampered with the GPA. "We're lost, aren't we?"

"No, this thing just isn't working right."

"…A directionally impaired Assassin, great." Josh snagged the GPA from Savaş and checked over the coordinates, dark brows rising when he noticed that something was very wrong. "Okay, my bad… We can't find the damned target because it's _moving_."

Savaş' expression flattened out, his reply a short, "As if I didn't know that?" He pulled the GPS from Josh's hands and tucked it into his back pocket in favor of his cell phone. After trying to track one target all day long in the heat, he was short on patience and having the obvious spat at him from an Assassin that had _just_ achieved the master-class rank was enough to put him into a rampage.

"What're you doing?"

Savaş didn't reply, instead balanced the cell phone between his shoulder and ear to light up a cigarette as he waited for an answer from whoever he had called. "_Merhaba_, Hastings, it's Savaş. At what point do you think it's amusing to misinform the field teams?"

Josh flinched when he heard the angry, seething response. "Way to piss off the mission coordinator," he grumbled under his breath.

"The target you assigned to myself and Joshua was not only _not_ where you said he'd be, but he's on the move. …Yes, I know you can't predict every little detail, but this is ridiculous." Savaş pulled the GPS back out, cigarette clenched between his teeth, to send the last coordinates he had gotten.

Josh waited in the silence, emerald eyes edged with curiosity as he watched Savaş' expression grow darker and darker, like a coming storm. "Wha-"

"What do you take me for, of course I realize… _Siçmak_!" Savaş' head darted up and he stared at Josh in near-horror. "We both missed the crucial point that the target just went by us."

Josh almost laughed, but his mind turned back to the cavalcade and he balked. "No fucking way…"

"Are there any teams closer to the stronghold then we are? _Evet, evet_… I'll call them and see if they can try to confirm the target's location. When I receive clearer word, I'll contact you again." Savaş wasted no time in hanging up and he pitched his spent cigarette, sending the GPS coordinates to another party that he simultaneously called. "Tavares, do you have a minute?"

"No shit he does."

"Listen, me and Josh were sent out today to gather whatever recon we could against everyone's least favorite doctor and, after being unable to track him all day, we think he just went past in a fairly auspicious cavalcade." Savaş' jaw tightened and apparently he didn't like what he was being told. "I just checked with Hastings and he is absolutely certain that the GPS coordinates are right. The man never makes a mistake, so I have to believe that something is going on."

Josh sighed when Savaş started arguing with Tavares over Shaun's credentials and decided that nothing was going to get done; nothing ever did when the _Suikastçi_ and _Asesino_ butted heads. "Fucking idiots," he grumbled as he pulled his own cell phone out. He waited impatiently for an answer and, when he got one, rushed to explain, "Me and Savaş are running recon against the Templar Vidic on a request from Lucy and we both think he's on the move in a really big fucking line of flashy cars and box trucks. Have you or Fang seen _anything_ like that?"

Obviously, Savaş was done arguing with Tavares, if the look on his face and lack of cell phone were any indication.

Josh ignored him for a moment. "Okay, that's good and not good. Where are you guys now? …Meet me and Savaş at the west-end start of the stronghold's block and we'll see if there is anything going on. Better safe than sorry, right? Okay, thanks Rainer. See you in a few." He snapped his phone shut and spirited it away with a terse smirk on his lips. "Did get too far with Tavares?"

"He thinks that it's a glitch," Savaş retorted sourly, brown eyes dark as he glared at the ground like it had some part to play in his misery. "What did Rainer have to say?"

"Him and Fang noticed an increased agent present near the stronghold and Rainer noted that they're really well armed and acting like they're waiting for something." Josh pushed off from the wall and headed for the street. "They're going to meet us near the stronghold to see if we can't figure out what in the hell is going on."

"A good idea if ever I've heard one come from you," Savaş grumbled under his breath. He didn't like where events were leading and, despite the lack of evidence, his instincts screamed at him that there was some foul play afoot.

* * *

"What was that all about?"

Tavares barely spared Ehren a glance as he wove through the foot traffic, one shoulder rising and falling in a graceful shrug. "That was Savaş with nothing better to do then chase empty leads and blame everyone else for his inability to track a target."

Ehren paused and thought for a moment before he ran to catch up to Tavares. "But, Savaş is one of the best trackers we have. I mean, the Oriental Assassins are superior in every way because of their abilities, but that little turkey's got some major skills!" He didn't like the way the _Asesino_ glared at him sidelong and again wished that he had been assigned with _anyone_ but Tavares. The man had always creeped him out, made his instincts scream at him to stab and run, but he couldn't say he had ever seen the elder master-class look so… threatening. Usually, Tavares' unerring smiles and pleasantries were unnerving, but this darker side really made Ehren want to find Rainer and hide behind him.

"Think what you will, but Savaş is no tracker," Tavares replied thinly. "He's got _Diablos'_ luck, I'll give him that, but he is not a tracker by any means."

_Why does it sound like he's trying to convince himself more than me?_ Ehren was called a lot of things –namely addlebrained and naïve– but he was a lot more intuitive then people wanted to believe and he was getting a very strong sense that something was wrong with Tavares. _He's cagey… nervous almost. I wish I had Fang here; her line's got that neat "I can see when you're lying" ability._ He sighed and held his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."

"_No piense nada de ello, pequiño Asesino_."

Ehren bristled; he didn't catch half of what had been said to him, but he knew enough remedial Spanish and know what he'd been called. "I'm not a 'little Assassin', _arschgesicht_! I'm a master-class _Attentäter_ whose height und age have nothing to do vith their ability!"

Tavares smirked when a little of Ehren's native accent made itself known in his angry comeback. "Calm down, Richter. You're far too easy to rile for a 'master' _Asesino_."

Ehren bared teeth at Tavares and offered his middle finger in reply. "If Rainer were here…"

"You'd be hiding behind him while he fights the battle for you."

"Fuck you! I can fight my own battles!"

"_Pero_, you're failing miserably here and now."

Ehren clenched his fists and almost punched Tavares, but refrained to avoid attracting attention to themselves. "If you're done pissing me off now, are we going to finish this mission or do you want to just call it a day?"

"No, no, I'm quite done." Tavares' familiar smile was back and just a touch creepier then before. "The day does grow short and I'm sure Lucy will want more than a 'yes, we found the second Templar stronghold' in our report."

Ehren felt a chill creep down his spine at the tone in Tavares' voice and he didn't like it at _all_. Something was wrong and he had get reassurance from somewhere; Savaş seemed like a good place to start. Sure that Tavares wasn't paying attention to him, he pulled his cell phone out and put it on vibrate to keep his actions as secretive as possible and sent the _Suikastçi_ a text message asking what had happened and what was going on.

The reply was surprisingly prompt and frighteningly short:

**Our target is on the move towards the downtown area; Tavares claims to knowledge of his movement. Rainer has seen increased, static presence of agents at the stronghold, so we're heading over to meet with him and Fang to see what is happening. Josh and me agree that something is going on and if I were you, I'd get the hell away from Tavares.**

**Something's off about him and I don't like it.**

Ehren couldn't agree more and took a deep breath, steadying himself as he asked for and received coordinates for the meeting place. _I trust Savaş way more __than Tavares and if he says get out, he means it._ He glanced around almost nervously and stood still, letting Tavares get ahead of him before he slipped across the street in a large crowd of pedestrians and into the nearest alleyway. _It's rush hour both on the street and the sidewalk, so it's going to take forever to get across town._ He looked up and sighed resignedly as he searched for a starting handhold. His parkour was nothing to write home about and he knew he'd spend most of the run on his face, but was certain it would still be quicker (and safer) then crossing town on the ground.

* * *

Life had certainly gotten busy all of the sudden. Savaş' call had ignited a firestorm of activity through the Animus team, spearheaded by Shaun as the only available computer-minded member. Rebecca did what she could, but both her and Lucy were tied up with monitoring Desmond's disturbingly erratic readings and keeping him synched. No one spoke on what might lay in wait for them, just worked their own respective avenues to find an answer to either dispel or prove their dawning fears.

Through Rainer, Shaun had been able to track the sudden presence of Abstergo agents and Rebecca's ingenious tapping of the city's street cams had allowed him to track the cavalcade Savaş had reported seeing. GPS confirmed that his and Josh's intended target was in that cavalcade and that it was steadily making its way closer to the stronghold. He knew he's seen such a maneuver before and it chilled him to the bone because that "last time" had coincided with the last time he had seen his mother and brother alive.

"Lucy!"

Shaun startled from such grim thoughts when he heard Desmond gasp and he turned in a flurry. The man was pale, wide-eyed, and the fine tremor that racked his body wasn't lost to the historian's keen eye. Before he could ask if Desmond was alright though, Lucy beat him to the punch, rounding the Animus 2.0 to put a hand on Desmond's shoulder.

"Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

Shaun turned back to his computer and switched over to his databases with the feeling that his life was about to get a whole lot busier. _Thank God I'm good at multitasking._

Desmond looked almost frantic at the idea of stopping and spat out, "No, I need to go back. Right now."

Shaun was surprised to hear the level of tension in Desmond's voice and glanced back to find resolve hidden under the other man's frantic anxiety. He saw the look Lucy shot Rebecca and the uncertain frown Rebecca returned, practically heard them internally grumble that there was no way Desmond would _let_ them stop, and felt uneasy himself.

Then again, Shaun couldn't blame anyone. Through his tracking of the cavalcade and the agents, he had been watching the sequence's procession, though the shock hadn't registered yet. _I'd probably want answers too. Ezio being the Prophet… Who would have thought?_ The window he had been using to monitor the sequences flickered back to life and he felt a twinge when Ezio's form wavered with Desmond's and stayed.

"Everything okay in there?" Rebecca asked, putting up a strong front to hide her own anxiety. She worked at the computer at fantastic speeds, her lips peeled back in a scowl as she was informed that they had finally encountered the corrupted data her and Lucy had feared the whole session. "Okay, Desmond, hold on. I'm going to try to find a work around."

Shaun saw the eye roll Desmond gave and the motion he made for Rebecca to hurry up. "I don't think he's happy with you, Becca."

"Well, I'm doing the best I can," Rebecca shot back. "Daw, damnit! Desmond, let me check the other too – this one's corrupted."

"Great, that's just fucking fantastic," Desmond grumbled.

Shaun, as always, found it oddly amusing that Desmond couldn't physically gesticulate when he was under, but he could speak when he was half-conscious while his projected self in the Animus could do plenty to relate his irritation physically. It had been bizarre to witness at first, but he had grown so used to it that it just made him smile when such roadblocks occurred.

Rebecca worked furiously and cheered when she found a safe point. "I found one that's okay! I'm going to run a diag to check, but at least you can keep going now."

Lucy interjected, "Or we can take a break if you want?". She was still worried about Desmond's readings and his frantic behavior a few minutes ago; on top of that, she didn't like the volume of corrupted data Rebecca had just been forced to quarantine.

A warning flashed on Shaun's computer screen and he cursed very eloquently in the handful of languages that had been drilled into his head from birth. "I would advise against that," he stated. "Abstergo's none too pleased about you and Lucy and it's only a matter of time before they come calling."

"So the other day… they are onto us?" Desmond asked.

"Yes," Shaun replied grimly. He could see the question in Desmond's eyes, but didn't want to distract him with bad news when they were _right there_. His only words were, "We'd better finish before they get here." He saw the assenting nod and almost cursed again when he realized that Desmond had extrapolated the whole approaching disaster from his opaque warning.

"That's fine," Desmond stated. "But, what about the missing years? What are we missing?"

Rebecca broke the tension with a sunny, "Probably more ancestor porn!"

Simultaneously, Shaun, Lucy, and Desmond exclaimed, "Rebecca!" in mortification that she had been so _blunt. _But, that comment had broken a little bit of the tension and they shared a laugh over the fact that Rebecca was probably, in part, right.

"Anything important that I should know about?" Desmond clarified.

Shaun changed to his database and tracked the year to the list of events he had built for just such an occasion, one eye always on the security windows in the corners of his screen. "Alright, let's take a look… According to my records, this is a tumultuous time in Florence. Following Lorenzo's death, the di Medici are deposed and a Dominican priest named Savonarola is given control of the city. He promptly turns it into the most miserable place on Earth and, according to this, it's around the time when the Bonfire of Vanities took place."

"Hey, I liked that movie!" Rebecca chirped.

A proximity warning went up from the master security system and Shaun felt his patience wan, Rebecca his unwitting target. "Oh, did you like that movie? It was interesting. What other movies do you like? Rebecca – the grownups are talking." He saw the middle finger Rebecca flagged at him and made a note to apologize later. "Now, what else do we have here…?"

"Asshole," Rebecca grumbled.

"There are some entries on Machiavelli, a bit of trouble in Forlí, a rather amusing anecdote about Caterina Sforza and, well, her reproductive organs –I'll tell you about that later– and what else…"

"He can chatter like a highschool cheerleader and has the nerve to yell at me?" Rebecca inquired sullenly. "Double asshole."

"Oh… oh dear." Shaun paused and worried his lip.

Lucy glanced over. "Shaun? What is it?"

"Of course, how could I have forgotten?"

Desmond broke in shortly: "Do you want to share with the rest of us, Hastings?"

"Rodrigo Borgia became the Pope in fourteen ninety-two," Shaun stated, almost demurely and with total ignorance to Desmond's note about Christopher Columbus. "This means that Ezio's number one enemy is the most powerful man in the world at Italy."

"Always wanted to visit the Vatican," Desmond quipped, though he didn't sound too happy. "Also should have paid better attention in History class."

Shaun replied in overly sunny tones, "Well, your luck's in, Desmond, happy days, 'cause that's exactly where you're going."

"Fantastic," Desmond muttered. "Okay, let's get this over with. Keeping half-synch is giving me a headache."

Shaun blew out a strained breath and turned an eye back to the security camera, not liking the multitude of reds that had surrounded the area or the proximity of the cavalcade. He made sure Desmond was full under before he murmured, "I hope this is quick because we have a problem."

* * *

"Traveling in large groups is dangerous, staying still in a large group is suicide," were words Ehren had once been told by his father on matters of solitary hunting. Yet, as he tripped across the last of the rooftops and scampered to his feet, he found an exceptionally large group of Assassins that looked like a giant, blue lump to his Sight. "Guys… why the convention?"

"Shaun called us back," Seiya replied tersely. "Have you seen the area, Ehren? It's redder than anything I've ever seen, and I've been in the middle of a Templar meeting!"

Ehren had to give to that point, but still insisted, "And they're not going to notice the very large group of Assassins hanging out like killer pigeons on an abandoned factory roof?"

"They're fixated on the eastern face of the building," Fang-Yi stated. "Which isn't good because we all know that's our weak side." The unspoken threat hung in the air and made the atmosphere tense, almost unbearably so.

No one wanted to say that only the Assassins knew where their strong and weak sides were. They avoided it because that would mean that they had a traitor in their midst.

Though, Ehren had to notice, had to call to the mat the fact that everyone but Tavares and the furthest reaching field teams weren't present.

"We know, _bruder_," Rainer murmured. "So there's a possibility that we have one or a full ten traitors in our midst."

"But that if for a later time," Savaş stated calmly. "Now that everyone is here, this is the situation: Abstergo has been moving in, which we've all noticed, and it's now apparent that they've been biding their time to attack. We have a cavalcade moving in from the north and agents set to the east, south, and north faces – the west isn't being monitored because they know it's our strongest front and the hardest to penetrate. We are to remain in distance, but not move until they do. The Eagle is at the end of his latest session and the team is determined to finish it, so our job is to keep Abstergo busy should they move before Desmond finishes.

"Our first, last, and only priority is to protect the Animus team. If they finish and get out before Abstergo moves, we are to keep them at bay long enough for the team to escape. Once the team is clear –in any event– we have been told to abandon the stronghold and split up. There is no word yet on what stronghold we will reconvene at, but we have been ordered to go to ground until we are contacted with coordinates."

"So we lose New York," Josh spat. "That's great! It's the hub of East Coast movement! The other strongholds will be running blind without us here."

"We will deal with that when we have to," Savaş murmured. "For right now, our focus is to hold the lines and made sure that no harm comes to the Animus team. Is everyone clear?"

Rainer scoffed. "Yeah, but this sounds like suicide to me. Assassins move in tiny, tiny teams and we're not trained to fight as a unit. Abstergo is and that puts us at a disadvantage."

"A unit is a group of individuals that fight the same enemy," Seiya pointed out. "They hold the same front, the same goal, the same will to live. Training means nothing when we have a common goal and a common enemy."

"Well said," Fang-Yi agreed. ""Now, let's get to our positions and get ready to kick some Templar ass!"

* * *

"All but ten of the teams are back and in place," Shaun reported once he received word from Seiya. "They have confirmed that Abstergo is planning on knocking the door down tonight."

"An hour, maybe two," Lucy replied. "That's all we need."

"Well, I'm sure if we politely ask Vidic and his goon squad to help themselves to some tea and biscuits and wait for Desmond to finish that they would," Shaun shot back sharply. "We don't have that kind of time left, Lucy."

Rebecca glanced up between the two, gauging the atmosphere before she stated, "We're almost to the end of this sequence and I can safely skip the things we don't need to see. That would put us down to half an hour, tops."

"Is that safe after the time Desmond has spent in the Animus?" Shaun asked.

"I wouldn't have suggested it if it wasn't safe," Rebecca shot back evenly. "What do you think, Luc?"

"We're going to have to," Lucy replied.

Shaun sighed and turned back to the security cameras, not mollified by the static position of the agents because the cavalcade had arrived with reinforcements. "Desmond, if you can hear me, we're out of time…"

* * *

"_My informant tells me that the Animus team will be alone this Friday. If we are to launch an attack and reclaim what is ours, that is when I suggest we do it."_

"_And what of the Eagle of Maysaf?"_

"_He'll be so far under that stealing him back will be a cinch."_

"_And the Jackal of Maysaf?"_

"_Only God knows. The point still remains that the dangerous Assassins will be out of our way and, when we reclaim Mr. Miles, we will have the benefit of being one set of memories closer to the answers, all without lifting a finger."_

"_You have our blessing to precede, Vidic, and count it as a test of your competency. The Assassin Stillman and the Eagle will be brought back to Abstergo without coming to harm, do I make myself clear?"_

"_Yes, my brother, you do. And, what of our launch plans?"_

"_Tentative, at best. With the Trinity stronghold hawking our movements, it's uncertain if we will find an opportunity to launch anytime soon. But, those are matters left to us, so inquire no further."_

"_I understand. Though, what would you have me do if I can extract information from my informant about the Jackal? Do you want him brought in as well?"_

"_No, dispose of him. Our only concern is the Eagle – he is the key to our success."_

"_Yet the prophesy–"_

"_Is a lore novice Assassins are brought up on, a false hope that we will not lay claim on again. It almost destroyed us in Italy and we will not make that mistake twice. Now, go and prove yourself to us."_

If this was a test of character and loyalty, Vidic reckoned that it was the easiest test he had ever undergone. The stronghold was as quiet and still as Tavares has sworn and he could well imagine walking in like he owned the place and strolling out with Miles and Stillman without a care or trouble in the world.

"_Señor_ Vidic, you look pleased with yourself."

Vidic wasn't surprised when Tavares dropped out of thin air and turned to glance at the _Asesino_ sidelong. "Glad you could join us. Is the way clear?"

"_Sí_, it is." Tavares swept his hair back into a ponytail and crossed his arms. "Are we just here for Desmond and Lucy?"

"Yes, the rest are of no consequence to us," Vidic replied. "Well, that and the retrieval of their computer systems, but that's a trifling matter considering."

Tavares decided it would be nice to see Vidic knocked down a few pegs and let him in on his well-kept secret. "The Jackal has awakened, did you know that?"

Vidic tensed and turned on Tavares with narrowed eyes. "What was that?"

"The game has changed, as I said it would, and the Eagle has found the Jackal. What do the brothers intend to do with him?"

"They only want Mr. Miles and Ms. Stillman."

"The Jackal will change the tides of this war and they just want to dispose of him?" Tavares scoffed at the short-sighted nature of the Templars. "They put no stock in the prophecy, do they?"

"None at all."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you know as well as I that every incarnation of the prophesy speaks of the war turning one way or another depending on the Jackal." Tavares' tone grew sly and his smile dangerous. "If he takes up arms to hunt with the Eagle, we lose. If he shies from arms, we win. Wouldn't it be ironic if 'shying away from arms' meant refusing to take up arms as an _Asesino_?"

"Because it's likely that he'd join the Templar ranks," Vidic shot back, watching as the teams deployed to their places. "That would be a very cold day in hell, Assassin."

"Who said he'd have a choice in the matter?" Tavares look like the devil himself when Vidic turned a wary eye on him. "We have _very_ persuasive instruments to call on, doctor." He was right; he was enjoying the look on Vidic's face as much as he had imagined he would. "Think on it and, whatever you do, let _Señorita _Crane and _Señor_ Hastings live to see the sunrise."

"Why should I?"

"The Jackal's decided to rejoin the Assassin ranks, run the same gamut as the Eagle." Tavares pretended to be thoughtful for a moment. "Why should we train him if the Assassins will for us?"

"Clever," Vidic had to admit. "Very, very clever, Assassin."

* * *

**Over… it was finally over and Ezio had thought that it would be easy. His delusions had been so deep rooted that he didn't know what to do when he entered the vault to find a world of silvered drawings and script on a black backdrop that meant nothing to him, and endless plain of infinite knowledge that he couldn't have grasped at full health. He couldn't even begin to comprehend the translucent woman that stood before him, a strangely garbed being that wavered like ripples across a pond every so often. Nor could he understand her worlds, veiled and mystic and too dense for him to grasp.**

**When he tried to ask her to clarify, she just snapped: "My words are not meant for **_**you**_**."**

**Ezio felt like screaming, moreso when she turned away from him again. But, he couldn't say or do anything, just listened as Minerva told of betrayal of his kind, how his kind turned against their kind after they had been given the gift of life and so much more. She spoke of war and the might of The Ones That Came Before and the many of the humans and she admitted folly more unbelievable than anything else. **

"…**the world burned until naught remained but ash."**

**Ezio knew from Leonardo that the "heavens" was the place where the sun resided and the man's scientific theories came back to him, whispering that the sun had burned the earth alive, and he felt himself pale. He barely listened as Minerva admitted that both species will to survive was strong despite their few numbers and it did not end with the destruction of the earth.**

**They rebuilt, tried to ensure that such tragedy would never happen again… They were dying and everything they had done had become myth, misunderstood and ignored as stories. **

"**My words also bring hope."**

**Ezio hardly saw how.**

"**You must find the other temples, built by those who knew to turn away from war. They work to protect us, so save us from the fire–"**

**Ezio's mind went right back to the first mention of burning and his knees went weak as the whole story came into perspective. **_**It will happen again?**_** If you can find them, if you can save them, so too might this world. Be quick, for times grows short, and guard against the cross for they are the many who will stand in your way."**

_**The Templars…**_** Ezio took a deep breath to steady himself, to try to bring things back under control, but he knew he was out of control.**

"**It is done, the message is delivered. We are gone now from this world, all of us, we can do no more. The rest is up to you… Desmond."**

"**What… Who is Desmond? I… I don't understand – I have so many questions!" Ezio felt panic choke him as the woman began to fade in another wash of blinding light. "WAIT!"**

"We're out of time, we've got to!"

"I need all of my equipment!"

"Desmond, Desmond, come on! …DESMOND!"

Desmond felt like a side of meat as he opened his eyes and found Lucy pacing nearby. "Yeah, yeah…" He had to clear his head, had to get his mind back in the present and convince it to _stop_ wrapping around what he had just seen and heard and felt.

"Shaun, Rebecca, I need everything in here packed up and on the truck. Desmond, you and me will handle the Templars."

Desmond recalled Shaun's warning about there being little time left and understood that the clock had officially hit zero hour. He caught the bracer Lucy threw to him and fitted it over his sweatshirt, glad to have its reassuring weight back on his arm. _Okay, get in the game or get shanked!_ He hyped himself up, focusing on the coming fight and nothing else, his mind going pleasantly blank until he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked back to find Shaun behind him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

Desmond grinned and patted Shaun's shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it, _amore mio_." He grinned rakishly in the face of Shaun's open-mouthed gape and yelled at him to hustle before he took off after Lucy. _Fuck the rest and fuck the world. After what I just went through, this is going to feel good._

_

* * *

_**Okay, I get the sinking feeling I chased people off with the last chapter and this one, what with the spoiler warnings and shit, but it's only fair! I HATE when I read fan fiction that has no spoilers tags and I'm sitting there at the end going, "Oh... goddamnit" because I just spoiled the end of a game I haven't finished. *shrugs* But, like I said at the top, the spoilers are done and over with now.**

**

* * *

  
**


	13. Closing the Chapter

Defeat was a bitter taste and even though the proof of the violent struggle was painted in red across Desmond, he was nowhere near happy. How could he be, when the weight of that last memory brought him down and his own inability to kill every Templar son of a bitch that had hit the stronghold grated on his mind? And escape… just the thought rubbed him raw until he couldn't stand to be in his skin anymore. He had tried to distract himself by making use of the Animus that Rebecca had set up, but it was impossible to achieve synchronization with his mind in four other places at once. Besides, he had just finished one memory, why jump right to another?

"Can someone say _something_?" Rebecca begged from shotgun.

"I'm not in the fucking mood to talk," Desmond growled.

Lucy removed a hand from the wheel long enough to place it on Rebecca's arm, her smile reassuring as she whispered to just leave Subject 17 alone for a little while. Her note about being smart and leaving Shaun alone all together made Rebecca smile.

"I don't think it's a good idea to be simmering right now," Shaun stated after another lapse of uncomfortable silence.

"I said I don't want to talk," Desmond snapped.

"That's a first, you not wanting to talk. The world must be ending because I swore the day your incessantly flapping lips stopped moving would be a sign of the end."

Wrong words; Desmond's head snapped up and he looked like he was, in some degree, deranged with the blood that had dried to his face. "I am armed still and God help you if you think that I won't make use of that fact."

Shaun knew that Desmond couldn't stay in his own angry little world and was ballsy enough to push his lines, all under the premise that if it could be done to him, he could return the favor. "You hardly scare me and I think that after the night we've had, barking at each other is the last thing we need to do."

"What do you want me to do, throw a goddamned party to celebrate the fact that we were fucking trampled?" Desmond crossed his arms and slouched down further against the wall, his face scrunching into a scowl when the truck rattled over a bump and jostled him.

"No, none of us do, but biting our heads off will do no good."

"Coming from the master of head removal, that's rich."

Shaun knew he might regret his actions and was ready to react if he had to as he reached over and smacked Desmond as hard as he could across the face. "Pull your head out of your ass, you bleeding tosser. You weren't the only one that had to run and I'm sure that we're all bitter about being forced out. That said, your status does not give you the ability to brood in a corner like a child and snap at whoever happens upon you."

"I had him right in front of me!" Desmond snarled. "You saw for yourself, he was _right there_ and I couldn't do a damned thing about it!" His hands balled into his sweatshirt, fingers flecking away some of the blood that had dried around his ribs. "Just… leave me alone."

"So you can badger me until I crack, but I have to leave you alone? I hardly see how that's fair."

"It's not fair, it's survivalist because I'm about to twist your head of your shoulders."

"I would love to see you try."

Desmond had Shaun caged between his arms, face-to-face, before the other man even knew what had happened. "I had the whole world dropped on my head and then let the one man I really want to kill slip between my fingers. Learn when to back off."

Shaun seized Desmond by the collar and held him fast, amber eyes blazing in the odd lighting from the dashboard. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Desmond knew that was _exactly_ what he was doing and huffed when he was released. He sat back up against the cool steel wall and pulled his legs tight to his body, laid his head against his arms, which effectively hid his face and sent the message that he was just going to be quiet and ignore the world around him. _He's right though, ripping each other apart isn't going to change the fact that we lost another stronghold. …I hope everyone got out alright…_

Shaun sighed and went back to his corner of the truck, sketching something by the light of his laptop, but his pencil kept stilling and his eyes kept wandering up to regard Desmond. _He looks pathetic._ He went back to his sketch, twisting the notebook in a near one-eighty, trying to concentrate, but he couldn't when he knew that Desmond was not only injured, but probably scared as hell and now angry that his own team mates were batting him around. _And I can't say I blame him. Whatever that woman, Minerva, was trying to say, that one note she left about the heavens was clear as day to everyone. If I know Desmond, he feels like he had the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders._

"Hey, Shaun, you want a few chips?" Rebecca asked as she rattled the bag she had pulled from the emergency supplies.

Shaun shook his head. "No thank you. I can't imagine why I'm not hungry." His tone was soft to assure that Rebecca wouldn't take his words for an insult and he waited until she turned back around to make his own move. Soundlessly, he shuffled his laptop across the truck and then moved himself, sitting close enough to Desmond that the paper he had been working with wouldn't fit between them.

"Huh?" Desmond looked up, confused, and was taken aback by the familiarity of finding Shaun sitting right next to him, quiet and seemingly oblivious to their proximity even though it was purposeful. A small smile broke the gloom haunting him for the first time since they had fled the stronghold and he laid his cheek against his arms, feeling peace cut though the anger and pain.

"You can't take every little thing on by yourself," Shaun murmured over the scratch of pencil against paper and the distant rumble of the truck. "Solitary though we are, we do ultimately fight together."

"I know; it was a lot at once and you know how much I hate running away."

"That much I can't recall with certainty, but your reaction would certainly verify your claim." Shaun tilted his notebook, paused, and moved his laptop so that there were fewer shadows across the page. "You did well tonight, if that's any consolation."

Desmond scoffed derisively. "Not nearly well enough."

"You're too hard on yourself. For what little you have at your disposal, you did much better then I'm sure many people thought you would." Shaun flipped his pencil and ran the eraser in arcs across the page before he turned it back over, his next words almost too soft to hear.

Desmond went still, eyes a little wider as the words, spoken in beautifully enunciated Italian, chased every other thought from his head. _He's… proud of me?_ Those were words he hadn't ever heard and they startled him, especially coming from a man that he was prepared to spend the next handful of _years_ opening up. _He compliments as rarely as I insult and he said it so easily! Does that mean that we're actually making progress or is he just trying to calm me down by shocking me to death?_

Shaun must have sensed Desmond's confusion because he smiled and chuckled as he ran his finger over the darkest areas of the page. "It was a compliment, nothing to bake your brain over, Desmond."

Desmond glanced at the hand that covered his lower arm and squeezed gently. He smiled and understood the reason for the praise and touch, felt better in the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who had been scared by the last sequence and corresponding flight. He lifted his head and rested his jaw on Shaun's arm, eyes turned up to regard him. "What're you drawing?"

"I think your eyes work for themselves," Shaun replied evenly, unruffled by Desmond's closeness.

"But some people don't like it when others just go helping themselves to whatever they're working on," Desmond countered with a tiny grin.

"If I cared, I wouldn't have hung anything on the walls and I wouldn't be drawing right in front of you." Shaun stopped and handed the notebook over to show that he really didn't care if Desmond saw or not, though his eyes were strangely averted.

Desmond took the notebook with a smile, careful of where his hands were to avoid smudging the graphite, and scooted over a little to cast off the shadows with the faithful glow of the laptop. "Holy shit…" were the only words he could think to speak.

It was a perfectly rendered drawing of the very events they had all just fought through, the lighting ominous and focus on the rafters where two shadows stood, arms clearly crossed, hooded heads titled towards the ground and identical smirks on their scarred lips. Between them crouched the Assassin's descendant himself, blood accurately rendered across his face and clothing, left arm held out and hidden blade gleaming in the weak emergency lights, right arm casually laid over a bent leg. Eyes betrayed insane rage and some hint of fear while the smile captured confidence and strength.

Desmond knew exactly where the central idea had come from; he had taken to the rafters as Shaun and Rebecca loaded the truck and was thankful that he had because Shaun had almost been relieved of his head. In the seconds before he had jumped on the agent bastard, he had seen Shaun look up at him before he had realized that there was trouble behind him. "I didn't look that good," he had to joke, just to take the edge off.

Shaun took the notebook back and closed it to set it aside after finding that his laptop was about to die. "You took flight tonight," he replied quietly. "When I looked up... I could see both of them in you and it was more impressive than anything I've ever seen." He went still and a little tense when he felt weight against his left arm and glance down to find Desmond had taken his shoulder for a pillow. "_Excuse me_…"

"M'tired," Desmond replied around a wide yawn that, if nothing, validated his claim. "It was a long day and it's gonna be an even longer drive."

Shaun couldn't argue there and shut his laptop down, letting the silence lapse until he heard Desmond's breath level out and felt him lean a little heavier against his arm. It was then, as he slipped his glasses up into his hair, that he realized he had no problem with Desmond's proximity and cared less if Rebecca or Lucy saw them so close together. He didn't care that Desmond smelled like blood or that he was surprisingly heavy or that he was right on top of the arm that Shaun himself ignored.

After what he had just run from, after realizing what he had _survived_, Shaun realized he was thankful that he had Desmond there and the thought brought him peace as he settled in for a nap in case his turn to drive was called.

* * *

Tavares looked disturbingly untouched as he toed at the body of a dead Assassin, the wrinkle of his nose centered on the blood that stained his rawhide boot and not the fact that a "brother" had been struck down in battle. He proceeded in kind across the warehouse floor, dark eyes searching the casualties for any survivors, some sort of inconsistency in the aura of black that surrounded each body he focused on. He was certain that he would find nothing; there were just black-red bodies and black-blue bodies, Assassins and agents struck down indiscriminately in the short-lived fight for the stronghold.

"I suppose this is pointless," Tavares murmured to himself as he stepped over a dead agent and narrowly avoided his spilled intestines, scowl deepening as he glared at the gore. "Pointless indeed." The wound could only have been caused by the former stronghold's _Attentäter_ and one of their Germanic broadswords. He rolled his eyes and preceded outward, right hand idly flipping his cell phone open and shut with deft movements. He had orders to search the stronghold for survivors and any information that might have been left behind. The former was a pointless search and he was sorely tempted to avoid the latter because he knew it would be another waste of his time.

The Assassins hadn't been prepared, but they had done well for rolling with the punches and Tavares knew there was nothing but a graveyard to be had.

All the same, Tavares moved out of the warehouse and towards the former Animus room. He didn't want to expend any more time then he had to, but he figured it was remotely possible that something had been missed on the dash out the door.

"Tossed," Tavares grumbled to himself when he stepped foot inside the once pristine room. He glanced about, not surprised to find the Animus 2.0 missing along with the majority of the computers. A lone laptop was left behind with the server computers and he moved over to those, checking for damage in the hopes that they could be recovered. There was no surface damage, but he keenly noted an innocent looking piece of equipment to the side of one of the mainframes and almost screamed in frustration.

The mainframes had been left behind because some genius had run a magnet over them.

Tavares picked up the magnet in question and threw it as hard as he could for lack of anything else to vent his frustration on. "This is useless! Of course they left nothing behind!" He had told Vidic that the Assassins wouldn't leave anything to chance, had warned him for months to proceed cautiously, and it infuriated him that his warnings hadn't been heeded. "It's like I was talking to myself!" He stormed over to the laptop with intentions of trashing that too –believing it to be erased as well– and paused when he found that it on and seemingly untouched.

"_Que_?" Tavares pulled up the only active window in the taskbar and leaned back when a video started playing, chaotic in the background and conversely casual in the foreground, where four very familiar people were grouped around the camera.

_Lucy leaned forward and waved with a sunny smile and bright, "Hello!"_

"_Sorry we didn't answer the door in time," Rebecca continued with a devious glint in her eyes._

"_But we were rather busy running for our lives," Shaun grumbled from under Rebecca and Lucy's arms around his neck. "No imagining why…"_

"_So, if you wanna leave us alone in the future, I'm sure we'd appreciate that," Desmond chided. "But we're pretty sure that you ain't going to do that, so we just have this to say…"_

_The whole team, ecstatic over the whole asinine idea or not, proffered their middle fingers and spat out a very well rehearsed and synched, "Fuck you, Abstergo!"_

Tavares had to admit that he was amused by the Animus team's tenacity. "Vidic has to see this," he murmured with the knowledge that it would only piss the doctor off. But, that was precisely _why_ Tavares shut the laptop down and tucked it under his arm with intentions of bringing it back with him.

If Vidic was going to make Tavares suffer, the _Asesino_ would be hard pressed not to return the favor.

* * *

"That," Rebecca murmured, "is too damn cute."

Lucy reeled around in the passenger seat when Rebecca pointed in the rearview mirror and smiled warmly when she found Shaun and Desmond curled into each other, sleeping the day's exhaustion away in the relative peace, safety, and warmth of one another. "If they knew you called them 'cute', they'd kill you."

"I know," Rebecca stated proudly. "But, you've got to admit, they do look good together."

Lucy chuckled and turned back around, resting her heels on the dashboard to curl up into herself. "I won't agree, but don't tease them, okay?"

"Why not?"

"They've got a history to overcome and a lot of trust issues to work through," Lucy replied quietly. "I can't say anything for certain, but it seems like they were together when they were younger and whatever happened in the UK split them apart. Shaun will mistrust everything Desmond says while Desmond tries not to be angry or irritated over Shaun's obvious amnesia. Just give them space and don't tease them."

Rebecca knew Lucy was right, but she was a natural-born imp and being told to behave herself was almost painful to hear. "Do you think they would ever tell us what happened?"

"Doubtful," Lucy replied. "We knew Shaun, what, maybe a year before we split up? That whole year was spent helping him through rehab, so he's not going to want to make himself look any weaker then he already feels. And Desmond… you've met his ancestors. Do they seem humble to you?"

"No," Rebecca chuckled. "So, Des won't tell us simply because he doesn't want to tip his emotional hand."

Lucy nodded and rubbed at her arms to try and warm them up. "We'll just have to leave that part of their lives a mystery." She finally gave in and turned the heat on to beat off the chill of shock and overexertion. "And, on that note, I was thinking…"

"Uh oh, you have that tone," Rebecca sing-songed.

Lucy smiled and let her hair down so she could settle into her seat more comfortably, tucking the ponytail bands and barrettes into the glove box for later. "What are the chances that Abstergo is following us?"

"Pretty damn high."

"Then… We need to think of somewhere else to go." Lucy's tone was quiet and dark, an indication that one of the notions she had thrown out troubled her. "We can't get to the safehouse, just to be chased out again however many hours later."

"Where else is there to go?" Rebecca asked. "The next nearest stronghold is in Northern New England and that's hours from here!"

"I know, I know," Lucy sighed. "Five hours at a decent clip, just to get into the region. And then another three hours to the stronghold. It's a lot of time to spend on the open road, but it might be safer to stay in a group."

Rebecca didn't look as certain as Lucy of the idea and she spared the other woman a glance. "You really think that the safehouse isn't going to be all that safe?"

Lucy shook her head with a grim smile. "Far from it. Call it a hunch, but I think we'd be better off heading further north."

"Indulge my curiosity: Why's that?"

"Abstergo's hold isn't as strong in the north, unless they want to call themselves lords over trees and snow," Lucy replied wryly. "There are more safehouses to be had because of the terrain and that particular stronghold is much better protected."

Rebecca couldn't deny that fact, but she was still leery of the reasons. "Is the head of the stronghold even going to let us in? I mean, it's not just the four of us that'd be knocking, Luc. It would be everyone that was there tonight plus some twenty more! That I know of, the New England stronghold is to capacity already – I doubt they'd let us in."

"I know the head of the stronghold," Lucy replied and her tone was more guarded now. "If he denies us access, we can jump strongholds and safehouses to the Mid-Atlantic hub."

"So, far north and far south." Rebecca sighed and shook her head. "It sounds great on paper, Luc, but it's a damn risky gamble for what we've got in tow."

Lucy scoffed. "You saw Desmond tonight, Becca. He doesn't have the rank, but he has the skills of a master-class Assassin. He's not the deadweight he was when Abstergo first picked him up, less so then when he was under Master Hastings' wing. And Shaun… well, give him some credit for the broken leg. He did knock a few guards straight out of the park."

Rebecca shrugged and gave a noncommittal sound. "If you think we'd be safer in a stronghold, then that's where we'll head."

"I do. We have a lot of work to do between what we learned through Ezio and what we have to put Shaun through. We'll need a stable, secure location to work in if we want to solve our riddles quickly."

"And you really think you can talk to the head of the stronghold?"

"I'm sure of it. Me and him have a… particular past."

Rebecca grinned and asked, "Ex-boyfriend?"

Lucy scowled and shuttered. "Hell no! He's thirty years my senior!"

"…So what if you like your men older?"

"Becca!"

Rebecca grinned and pointed to the GPS. "Put the coordinates in so I know where in the hell I'm going."

"It's easy. Stay on interstate ninety-five until you see 'welcome to New Hampshire'."

Rebecca paused and a thoughtful look crossed her expression as the facts finally started to tally up in her overtaxed mind. _The central command for northern movement is centered in the Seacoast region of New Hampshire, which, if I remember correctly, is where Lucy's from. I met her in training at the NYC hub…_ _Ah! I think I see what she's getting at!_ A grin spread over her lips as she nodded to herself. _Well, this could get interesting!_ "So, uh, I've still got another few hours left in me. We wanna make Des or Shaun drive once we hit, say, Connecticut?"

"Desmond. Shaun's leg is healing, but I doubt he would appreciate a turn at the wheel."

"Cruise control!"

"No. Desmond can drive through to Massachusetts and then I'll take the wheel into New Hampshire." Lucy flicked the heat off with the chills subsided and titled her head to watch the scenery whip past. "If all else fails, there are safehouses we can stop at on the way."

"And the others?"

"I'll send out a message in the morning, when I'm sure they're all underground," Lucy replied. "There's a safehouse in the area, so they can hunker down there until we get the okay."

* * *

The first thing an Assassin had drilled into their head was the Creed; "Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted". Initiates lived, breathed, ate, and killed by these words until it became part of their being and, on the cross into their novice training; their understanding of the Creed was tested with a simple question pertaining to their interpretation of the primary tenant that governed the Brotherhood. If an initiate could answer to the tune of, "no answer is the right answer because no two brothers are the same", they were promoted to novice-class. At that point, second and third things drilled into the Assassins then were the tenants of the Creed and "Master's order is Master's law". That meant that no Assassin was to question the orders of their superior, teaching trust, obedience, patience, and, above all else, creating a killer that would never stray from the main objective.

Too bad Lucy's little stronghold gang had never quite taken all those lessons to heart.

Those Assassins that had managed to get back to the stronghold had retreated to their necessary stations once the Animus team was clear, but they had all gravitated back to their former home with a unified idea in mind. If Lucy (their unofficial "Master") _ever_ found out about what they were planning to do, she might have them killed, but they were willing to take that risk if it meant getting some petty payback.

Their argument: "Nothing is true, so don't assume that we're pledging obedience because we really plan to. Master's order is master's law, but everything is permitted, which includes those things not on Master's agenda. We harmed no innocents in what we did and, in fact, the bastards were begging for it, nor did we compromise the Brotherhood, just stirred up the media for the morning news. Lastly, we were hidden in perfectly plain sight; had those Templar fuckers bothered to look up, they would have seen a dozen plus Assassins grinning down at them."

Ehren and Josh had managed to concoct _that_ ludicrous defense while Savaş, Fang-Yi, and a late-comer Assassin, Xavier, rigged up what was agreed upon as "a late Fourth of July display".

"We're ready!" Fang-Yi sing-songed as she waved around the microcomputer she had heisted from Xavier. "Do we wanna do a drum roll or a dirge or some taps?"

Rainer peered over the edge of the building, pleased to see some one hundred fifty red figures crawling around the stronghold. He had no love for the black-blue figures strewn across the grounds (inside and out), but knew that casualties were to be expected, especially on such short notice. There were no moving blues though and he pulled back with a thumbs-up to Fang-Yi. "I think we should just blow the motherfuckers to Kindgdom Come and get the hell out of dodge."

"Well stated," Savaş murmured. "Jokingly, shall we attempt to have, what, twenty-eight _Suikastçi_ try to push a very small 'execute' button at the same time?"

An _Ansatsusha_, Mayako, rolled her eyes and gave Savaş a light push. "You're usually so smart. Did a Templar knock you one?"

Seiya's cut into whatever light banter could arise with a short, "No one wants to do this, but it has to be done to send a message to Abstergo that we will not tolerate unwelcomed visits." He looked around the group, dark eyes serious, one socket decorated with a garish blood-bruise. "This has been our home for years and this is the price we pay for staying for so long in one spot, for not moving more like our _douhou_. We have to do this and then we have to move on."

A younger novice-class _Cossack_, Marishka, peered around Josh's shoulder with baleful eyes, an initiate-class Assassin hanging off of _her_ shoulders, "So this is punishment for betraying our brothers?"

Savaş shook his head and glared at Seiya, hissed at him in highly-accented Japanese to mind his tongue around the younger Assassins. "No, Mari, it is not. This is a war, as we have told you time and again, and this is merely what has to be done. It wasn't wise to take to this one place, but we cannot be punished for wanting a home and a family."

The initiate-class, David, edged around Marishka a little further. "Will we be meeting back up with Lucy and her friends?"

"Yes, we will, when they send word of where we are to meet." Savaş glanced at Seiya to dare him to challenge his next words. "We were not supposed to, but whether we chose to come to this country, to this state and city, or we were assigned here, we all chose to stay. While our _kardeşler_ came and went, we all stayed and forged a silent agreement to train for, kill for, die for _Uzman_ Stillman and now is the first test of our resolution." He motioned to the stronghold with an elegant sweep of his gloved hand. "That is but a shell, a place that we lived in. Wherever we moved to next will be but another shell – our home and family are with _Uzman_ Stillman and her team."

"Is she really a _Meister_?" Ehren inquired.

"To us, she is," Savaş replied with a smile. "And that is what counts."

Seiya sighed and a tentative smile broke his scowl as he looked around as Savaş' words ranger truer and truer in his thoughts. He had never realized that the small group that surrounded him had become a family and had never entertained the notion that Lucy was his _Maisutaa_, but it was true. He didn't speak to his thoughts; instead he smirked and asked, "Are we done being sappy or are we going to give those bastards a taste of modern _Ansatsuha_ justice?"

Fang-Yi giggled and nodded. "Count down from five, at least!"

"Dramatic little _itazurakko_," Mayako chuckled. "Okay, everyone, from five and _quietly_."

"Five."

Fang-Yi initiated the stronghold's defense system, the same system every stronghold in the world had initiated.

"Four."

She input the master codes she had hacked from the systems, bereft as she had been of Lucy's code.

"Three."

The command was confirmed and set to manual control.

"Two."

Fang-Yi grinned and held up the computer she had strapped to her wrist.

"One!"

Fang-Yi hit the enter key and it was dead silent for the space of a heart beat before the night was lit up in a fantastic fireball and every Assassin hidden across the way realized they had forgotten a very important fact: Explosions were loud and they had forgotten to cover their ears.

* * *

_Nightfall had brought on fierce winds that drove the snow in horizontal sheets, the temperature plummeted to a fantastic negative thirty, and the ground disappeared further until the furiously falling blanket of white. It would be hell to dig out in the morning for school, but he had his doubts that he'd even be_ going_ to school in the morning. Last time London had been graced with a blizzard, his mother had told him that the city had screeched to a halt for a week. He figured that time couldn't have changed the transportation department's ways that drastically, prayed he wouldn't have school in the morning because he was quite enjoying his unannounced roommate's presence._

"_You're thinking too damned hard."_

_He laughed and ruffled short, dark hair, his laughter choked when a devious tongue licked at a sensitive patch behind his ear and teeth nipped at the area gently. "Just hoping I don't have classes in the morning… God, you keep doing that and you're going to get what you ask for, love."_

_Bright brown-gray eyes peered over his chest, scarred lips split in a catty grin. "And what might I be asking for, hmm?"_

_He pulled the younger novice up for a kiss on the lips that was chaste, but full of promise for a more torrid meeting if he kept it up. "Don't ask stupid questions," he murmured when they pulled apart._

_The novice chuckled and licked at his bottom lip playfully. "I have no idea what you're talking about! I thought I was just having a snack."_

_He rolled his eyes and swatted the novice on the head softly. "There is a vast difference between asking for a sound fucking and snacking, Des."_

"…_Your point being?"_

"_You're incorrigible… Desmond!" He arched and had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep silent when the other novice latched onto a nippple, the other hand cradling his head as he tried to remind himself that his little brother was sleeping in the next room over, that the walls were thin, and he didn't want to hear his mother's jokes in the morning. "Desmond…" he breathed._

"_Yes-"_

"Shaun!"

Shaun startled out of his sleep, eyes wide under his skewed glasses, and he tried to resolve the world around him. Eventually, his brain caught up to the present and he realized he was still in the back of the truck; Rebecca was driving and Lucy was speaking with her in muted tones over the low music from the radio. Something very warm was right next to him and when he looked, he found Desmond leering at him with his arms crossed. "Why did you wake me… Oh." He then realized that when he'd fallen asleep, he had his arm comfortably (read: platonically) wrapped around Desmond's waist and now his hand seemed to have wandered up the novice's shirt of its own accord.

"Yeah, that's why I woke you up," Desmond murmured.

Shaun went to remove his hand and his face scrunched in confusion when Desmond grabbed his wrist. "Make up your mind!"

"I didn't want to be felt up while you were sleeping," Desmond replied, his tone steeped in amusement and, if Shaun was reading right, a hint of lust. "Now that you're awake though…"

Shaun's face went bright red, but he couldn't move his hand thanks to Desmond's iron grasp. "The girls are _not_ deaf or blind, Desmond!"

"Didn't seem to care a few minutes ago…"

"I was sleeping!"

"And apparently having a very good dream." Desmond leaned up and asked, "About me or someone else?" There was an edge to his tone and eyes when he asked that and it was clear that he'd know the truth from a lie.

"The blizzard," Shaun replied without even putting out the effort of lying.

Desmond grinned and it was to the definition of the word "lecherous". "Good night… Glad we didn't have class in the morning or we woulda been screwed… in the not great way."

Shaun was taken completely off guard when Desmond leaned forward and kissed him, chaste and full of promise, just like he remembered a much younger novice doing. "Des…" His brows furrowed when Desmond laughed softly. "What?"

"You haven't called me that in years," Desmond murmured. "I missed it." He knew Shaun wouldn't let him do anymore then stay close and rested his head against the older man's shoulder after he pulled arm up to rest across his shoulders.

Shaun knew he had to look like a Christmas bulb with the way he was blushing, but going from an intimate dream to an intimate reality left him with no other option. He didn't quite know what to do with Desmond's closeness or blatant disregard to Lucy and Rebecca's opinion, and he slipped his gears over how easily Desmond could slip back into their old closeness. It was familiar to him, but not as intimate as Desmond remembered it to be and he found himself bothered by that.

"Thinking to hard…" Desmond murmured.

Shaun thought of fluffing Desmond off, but refrained; he had promised the novice that he would try to open up to him more often and this was a good place to start. _We have to learn how to trust each other again and we can't do that if we're dancing around each other._ "You can remember everything while I only remember pieces. Doesn't that bother you?"

"No, because I know it's in there somewhere," was Desmond's easy reply, "and I said that I was willing to wait for you."

"But–"

"I'm a lot more patient then people think I am," Desmond interjected as he laid an arm across Shaun's stomach. "Trust me, you're worth the wait."

Shaun's blush went brighter with the comment and he couldn't do much more then kiss the top of Desmond's head and hold him closer. "You could have to wait a while."

"It'll be worth it in the end, just like it was the last time." Desmond was sorely tempted to tease Shaun a little, but knew that wouldn't be received well simply from the tension he could feel in the historian's body. "Don't worry so much, Shaun. A year ago, I thought I'd never see you again and six months ago I thought I'd be dead. Five weeks ago I swore I'd seen a ghost and four weeks ago I'd resigned myself to being a rival to you for the rest of my life again. A week ago I got a little bit of you back and now you're hugging me without hissing. I'd say we're making just fine progress."

"And you say I have the eidetic memory?" Shaun joked.

"I only remember the important things," Desmond retorted. "So quit worrying."

Good advice if Shaun ever heard it and he heeded it, settling into Desmond's familiar embrace and letting his doubts slide away, to just be content in the moment because Subject 17 was right.

A year ago, Shaun didn't even remember he had a lover or a career other than historian and six months ago he had heard of a stranger that Lucy wanted desperately to bring to the Assassins. Five weeks ago he had met a man who seemed familiar, so much so that it irritated him and he wanted the nuisance gone. A week ago his world had been dropped on its head when he had remembered his old lover and accepted the fact that he was an Assassin, a descendant of the Jackal of Maysaf nonetheless. And now he was cuddled (God, he hated that word, but it fit too well) in with Desmond like nothing had ever changed.

"Don't reply to me," Desmond whispered against Shaun's bloody sweater, "but I love you."

Shaun knew those words would come and they didn't surprise him as greatly as he thought they would. He knew why Desmond had told him not to reply; he couldn't reply of his own volition, it would have been out of reflex. He just kissed the top of Desmond's head and murmured, "Thank you, love."

* * *

**Aie, I'm a bad writer! *dies* I'm so sorry for the delay in updates, I really am, but the familiar excuse of "college is killing me" still applies! It's incredibly difficult to balance my online classes, course work, and due dates with the rest of my life and I find myself using my computer for work more often then pleasure anymore. *bows and grovels* And now I have commissions to get through and I can only beg patience, guys! ...And be thankful for all the awesome comments, watches, and favorites I've received so far! I'll get around to replying to everyone one of these days!  
**


	14. Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere

Outsmarted, outwitted, and outdone, Warren Vidic wasn't a man to be around at the moment. He had worked over the siege plans tirelessly and had consulted with his network of insiders numerous times to make sure that there was no way the Animus team could escape. Even after incorporating the stay of execution on Hastings, he had made sure his plan was airtight, and Vidic could not begin to comprehend how those _cockroaches_ had escaped. It hadn't been pleasant to run, but he had been prepared to call that a necessary evil since he had the Eagle of Maysaf right on his heels. Escape wasn't a necessary evil when agent losses were almost equivalent to Assassin losses and the Animus team (as well as every Assassin he'd wanted dead) was still alive and now off the radar.

Any being with half a brain stayed well out of Vidic's way as he stormed through Abstergo's East Coast hub to his office. He wanted something to hurt, to experiment on, to destroy, but he had to settle for the mauling the conciliate was sure to give him when he issued his report.

"_Buenos noche, Señor_ Vidic."

Vidic's hand clenched around his keycard and he had to fight not to make use of the .38 hidden under his lab jacket when he found Tavares comfortably seated behind _his_ desk. "What in the name of God are you doing here, Assassin?" He paused before he went into a rant to consider the fact that the _Asesino_ looked deep fried and well done. "And what happened to you?"

"I had the cover blown off my operation… literally," Tavares replied with a canted smirk. "They all escaped and blew the stronghold up. It should be on the evening news by now."

Vidic wasn't too sure of Tavares' claim (since it wasn't below the man to lie) and went to his desk to grab the TV remote, flicking to the local news once the TV turned on. As surely as he breathed, there were aerial shots of the stronghold and a blow-by-blow description of the raging conflagration from the female anchor. "And you were in there?" he inquired incredulously.

"Not quite, but close enough to be mangled," Tavares replied.

Vidic muted the news and threw the remote down in a pile of paperwork, his mood sinking a little further into hell with the news. "And I take it that you found nothing of use when you were there?"

Tavares indicated the laptop he had taken and reached forward to bring up the recording from the team. "I found this, for as little solace as it will bring me, you, and the conciliate." He hit "play" and leaned back in the overstuffed executive chair with his hands locked behind his head. He watched in quiet amusement as Vidic went blue, white, then red (very patriotic of him, the _Asesino_ reckoned) in the course of the relatively short message.

"Do we know where they are?" Vidic hissed through clenched teeth, every syllable carefully enunciated with acid.

Tavares shook his head and threw out a status report from his own network of insiders. "We lost them in upstate New York. Their track changed and we've failed to locate them. I can assume that they shut down anything with a GPS in it, so I wouldn't expect them to magically show back up."

"Goddamnit!" Vidic slammed his fist down on his desk and swept away a stray pen that rolled towards his hand. "What about the rest of the Assassins?"

"Stillman's core group is intact and gone to ground," Tavares reported easily. He had been right again – watching Vidic slowly explode with the status update was far more justifying then most thought. _It should be a sport, like hunting, though less bloody and infinitely more amusing_. "I have my people doing what they can to find both groups. One team has started to check south around the New Jersey stronghold and another team was deployed north to New Hampshire. We're hitting every safehouse and stronghold that I know about –which is all of them– and we're considering scoping out the hub safehouses just in case."

"At last, an intelligent movement," Vidic snarled. "The moment you find anything, tell me."

"Before or after you're chewed out by our brothers?" Tavares returned smoothly.

Vidic swore long and viciously at Tavares and stormed out, mindless to the fact that he was in his own office.

Tavares let out a long breath and leaned back further, eyes closed as he felt peace wash over him. _Sì, there is nothing quite like giving misery some company…_

_

* * *

_

"Whoever's playing the drums, knock it off!"

"That's just your ears."

Rainer scowled and jiggled his pinky in his ear, wincing when the pounding upgraded to a high-pitched ringing. "God, that was really stupid of us! I'll be lucky if I can hear right this time next year!"

Ehren grinned and leaned back against the wall of the box truck he and twenty-seven other Assassins had crammed into. "Think of how those agents feel!"

"Was I the only one smart enough to plug my ears?" Josh inquired wryly.

"You could have shared your cigarette filters, asshole," another master-class, Anna, grumbled. "We'd buy you another pack."

Josh shrugged and tapped the ashes off his cigarette with a wry grin. "No one asked, so it never occurred to me to offer." He blew a long gray-white stream of smoke into the cloistered air and stretched out so that his ankles were crossed over Marishka's legs. "Your ears okay, sweetie?"

Marishka nodded and shared a grin with David. "No duh, silly! You gave us butts too!"

Seiya's gaze slid across the truck to glare at Josh when five other novice and initiate-class Assassins piped up in a similar fashion to Marishka and David. "Spare the kids and spoil the adults' hearing?"

"They're just kids!" Josh shot back. He saw some unsavory looks sliding his way and quickly sought a way out. "Hey, Fang, where in the hell are we going?"

Fang-Yi, one of the few drivers capable of handling a manual transmission, called back from the driver's seat, "We're staying on the road until we get word from one of the team. It's too dangerous to settle into a safehouse if you think about it and we'd never be let near a stronghold without Lucy behind us."

"You think the agents are after us?" Lacy, another initiate-class, inquired.

"They could be," Rainer replied calmly. "But that's why we all turned off our cell phones and the mini-computers, so they can't find us. If we're pulled over, it's just going to look like one big box truck and we'll be safe."

Lacy nodded and cuddled into Ehren like he was an overstuffed teddy bear. "That's good. I'm done with those guys."

Savaş smiled and reached over to smooth Lacy's hair from her face. "No one here has any reason to be afraid. No Templars will find us so long as we're on the move and Lucy will not let us float about for very long."

Seiya glanced up after sharing a look with Mayako and asked Savaş what they would do if the team didn't make it in the other master-class' native Turkish. He wasn't comforted by the simple shrug that served as his reply, but an easy line of Japanese served to encourage him slightly. "Do you believe that, Fang-Yi?"

"With all my heart," Fang-Yi replied confidently. "Now, come on! We've been winging it since we woke up this morning; don't ruin the fun with plans!"

Ehren grinned when Rainer asked him what had been said and just patted his shoulder. "Nothing important. Just talking about how we're shooting from the hip."

"Idle conversation," Rainer grumbled. "Great. But, what the hell else do we have to do until we're called?"

"…Car bingo?" Ehren had never been hit upside the head by so many people in his whole life, but he insisted. "I Spy… OW! Charades… HEY!"

* * *

Shaun knew someone was shaking him, but he couldn't be immediately bothered to wake up. He heard someone calling his name and Rebecca's –someone who sounded a little frantic– and he didn't really want to open his eyes. However uncomfortable, he was resting rather peacefully and he didn't want to disturb himself long enough to shoo the irritant away. But, when the shaking grew a little more insistent and the voices a little louder, a little more frantic, it clicked in his sleep-hazed mind that something was wrong and he snapped awake, immediately on alert and ready to fight.

"Shaun, calm down!"

Shaun focused on Desmond's blurry face, squinted to make him come into focus a little more, and rubbed his eyes. "What in the name of God did you wake me up… Oh bloody hell…" He saw the dark, blurred, but very easily understood silhouette of a gun (probably an AK-47) against Desmond's side and realized that something was _very_ wrong. His first thought was that Abstergo had caught up to them and he recoiled to fight, but Desmond held him back.

"Stop, just stop," Desmond growled. "Get up slowly, okay?" His voice was tight and his shoulders tense, gray-brown eyes screaming the frustration he couldn't very well voice. "C'mon, before McShootsYouLots decides to turn me into Swiss cheese."

Shaun heard a rattle from the back of the truck and finally thought to reach for his glasses, unaware of the individual coming at him until he had a flash-suppressed gun in his face. "The fuck? I can't see, you cocker!" He pointed to the glasses perched on his head and pulled them down with an indignant huff. "Christ, what the hell is this, Desmond?"

"Stop talking!" a deep, male voice snapped.

Shaun growled when he was prodded with the muzzle of what he saw was actually an AR-15, taking stock of his surroundings as he slowly climbed to his feet, hands held aloft to dissuade whoever had found them shooting him. By the hazy orange light outside it was early morning and due to be another hot, humid day and the landscape, edged with deciduous and coniferous trees, was a clear indication that they were a long way from New York. If he had to guess, he would say that they had gotten clear into northern Massachusetts or southern New Hampshire and he felt a mild wash of irritation that they hadn't gotten all the way to their destination.

"Come on, move it," the same male commanded.

Desmond moved ahead of Shaun, unconsciously putting himself between Shaun and the guns trained on the whole team, and shuffled out of the back of the truck with a dark look in his eyes. He knew he could drop every single fool before they knew what'd hit them – or that was what he told himself. The truth was that he had no idea how good they were, how fast their reflexes were, and how fast _he_ could be after six hours had left him stiff and tired. He jumped off the tailgate and turned despite the danger of presenting his back, holding his hand out to help Shaun to the ground. He bared teeth when he was prodded with the muzzle of the AK-45 that had been formerly aimed at his side. "His fucking leg's broken!" he snarled.

"Desmond, don't," Lucy warned as she jumped down after Rebecca, who looked absolutely terrified and enraged at the same time.

Shaun stumbled when he was shoved forward and he had to fight not to retaliate. "Don't do that again," he rumbled.

"Move it."

Shaun fell into step with Desmond as the team was marched across an abandoned parking lot, steered by gunpoint towards the abandoned factory that loomed a few hundred feet ahead. "Where in the fuck are we?" he hissed at Desmond.

"The stronghold," Desmond replied in the same angry stage whisper. "Me and Lucy tried to scope the area out and these idiots caught us."

Shaun almost faltered. "We've got Assassins pointing guns at us?"

"Yes."

"Do they know we're Assassins as well?"

Desmond titled his head with a grim smile and it became apparent at that angle that someone had introduced the butt of a gun to his temple. "We couldn't get that far into the introductions."

"Well what the fuck?" Rebecca snarled.

"A shared sentiment and valid question," Shaun replied.

"Shut up!" a female barked, her AR-15 rattling as she spun it and gave Shaun a smart smack in the back of the head with the butt of the rifle.

Bad idea.

Desmond was in motion before Shaun could so much as stumble, one hand out to stop him from falling and the other flying to knock the woman's nose through the back of her skull. His fist made contact and he smirked when he heard bone crunch around her pained exclamation, but his victory was short-lived. He heard more than felt the single burst that thundered through the tree-sheltered lot, breath stolen from his lungs when pain raked across his nerves from his thigh.

The lead man shoved Desmond flat on his back when he faltered and the rest of his cadre armed and aimed their guns at the team. "Anyone else want to push their luck?"

Desmond picked himself up, hand held to his bleeding leg, teeth bared in an animalistic sneer. "You're going to pay for that, asshole." He froze when the AR-15 prodded his gut –a wound he definitely wouldn't get up from– and decided passive-aggressive might be the better route with the lot he was facing.

"Just stop," Lucy pleaded.

"Good idea," another woman mocked. "Now _move_ or we'll leave your corpses for the coy dogs."

The team was forced back into motion and the rest of the walk was peaceful under duress of being shot to death. When they were led inside, they were first taken aback by how much like the NYC stronghold the New Hampshire stronghold was with its warehouse interior and industrial lighting. But, there was a faint, chemical odor in the air that mingled with more mechanical scents from the vehicles scattered, in pieces, in one corner of the ponderous space. That alone reminded them all that they were far from home, that scent of machine grease and chemicals and rotted earth that was so different from the heavy smog of the city.

"Halt," the lead man barked.

"Halt" apparently meant kneel and the team couldn't help but think that they had escaped from one set of lunatics to face another as they were forced to their knees, guns held to their heads.

_This must be how Giovanni and his sons felt before they died,_ Desmond realized, his face scrunched up in pain as his hands were forced behind his head and locked in place with some sort of plastic tie that was fastened too tight around his wrists. He felt the cold press of steel against his head and could _hear_ Altaϊr and Ezio screaming at him for being a horrid Assassin.

Curious onlookers started to gather on the catwalks and a respectable distance from the intruders, women and children and men that all bared the hard eyes of Assassins and the weathered weariness that denizens of the region exuded.

"What in the hell is this shit!?"

The voice boomed through the open area like a gunshot and the team looked towards the upper level to see a beast of a man descending the metal staircase with steps that seemed impossibly light for his stature. A large set of keys rattled more loudly against his leg then the echo of his work boots against the concrete floor.

"Intruders," the lead Assassin replied smartly, unafraid to call the news out across the area. "Caught two of them sneaking around the perimeter."

"We weren't-" Desmond was reminded that prisoners should be seen and not heard with the clip of a gun upside the head, his temple splitting back open to stream more blood down the side of his face.

The imposing man covered the distance quickly, pale blue eyes flashing hellfire as he came to a stop before the team. "More Abstergo dogs sniffing around?" he snarled, his voice touched by the local accent and affliction to the pronunciation of Rs. "I told you what to do with this sort, Zack."

Lucy decided to go all in and spat out a pre-rehersed plea in record time. "We are not Templars, we are Assassins and we need help! We were chased from the NYC stronghold late last night and we came here hoping for sanctuary!" She knew entrance into the stronghold would be hard, but she had never imagined it had gotten so _violent_, and she prayed that some facts would start clicking soon.

"You don't look like Assassins to me," the man stated coldly. "No right-minded Assassin would be captured so easily. Templars on the other hand…"

Lucy went for the opening when she wasn't batted around for speaking out of line; she'd seen the hesitance in the lead Assassin, Zack's, eyes when she's stated her former location. "We are not Templars, for the last time!"

"Prove it then," the man challenged.

_He's as dense as I remember him being!_ Lucy internally griped, but she felt relief when she saw the same hesitance enter the man's eyes and voice. "Last time you saw me, I was twelve-years-old and I had darker hair; I left for the NYC stronghold for my novice training and to find the one thing you said never existed."

The man clearly faltered and his eyes widened a little, mouth drawing into a thin line under his bushy, gray-streaked beard. "What is your name?"

"Lucy."

The silence was almost deafening as the Assassin and Lucy stared at each other, but quick in passing when the man fell to his knees and enveloped Lucy in what looked like a bone-crushing hug. He glared at the Assassins that ringed the team and waved his hand as though he were clearing flies. "Stand down! Stand down, goddamnit!" He pulled back and held Lucy's face between his time-worn hands, eyes softer and edged with guilt as he smoothed her hair back. "Lucy, I'm so sorry! Goddamnit, are you okay?"

Lucy smiled and nodded. "I expected a rough welcome, but I see security's gotten a little better over the years."

Rebecca, Desmond, and Shaun all shared identically confused looks as they tried to figure out how they had gone from facing the firing squad to some sort of happy reunion in the span of a few desperate words.

The man kissed Lucy's forehead and reached behind him for a switchblade that he used to cut the tie from her wrists, rubbing the reddened flesh with her hands held close to his chest. "You should have said something!"

"They wouldn't let us," Lucy replied with a sour look aimed at Zack. "As usual."

Zack held his hands up and almost dropped his gun with the action. "You were a squirt last time I saw you! Cut me some slack, you harpie!"

"Lucy, what the hell is going on?" Shaun finally demanded, his voice sharp and cutting.

Lucy turned to face Shaun with a hesitant smile. "A miscommunication?" she tried feebly as she took the man's knife to free her teammate's wrists. When she realized they were still glaring at her, she sighed and came clean, like she had been trying not to for the whole ride. "Um… this is my home. Take off your shoes and get comfortable?"

Desmond gaped, Rebecca stuttered, and Shaun tried to figure out if Lucy was kidding.

Lucy decided to keep hitting them with the truth while they were stunned a beyond violence. "This is my father, Gregory Stillman, and my brother Zackary. I… I, um, came here because I knew it would be safe and I _thought_ that we'd get in without a problem, but I sort of miscalculated."

"…'Sort of'?" Desmond echoed dangerously. "I look like a fucking torture victim for Chrissake! This is your family?! Do you always hold each other up at gunpoint?"

Lucy ducked her head and her shoulders slumped. "I said I miscalculated. This is one of the safest strongholds on the Eastern Seaboard _because_ intruders don't get past the front door."

"They tried to kill us," Rebecca purred, a sure sign that she was the closest to flipping out on Lucy. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"Because… Just because!" Lucy had no defense, aside from the fact that she had _run away_ from the stronghold at age twelve because of a disagreement and it was humiliating enough to have to crawl back to her father for help years later. Having to explain the whole thing to her teammates just wasn't something she had wanted to do. But, circumstances being what they were, her preferences meant little in the face of certain death by her closest friends. "I'm sorry."

Shaun seemed the one least inclined towards violence and flopped back on his rear with a sigh. "Secrets like that almost got us killed, Lucy. Don't do it again."

"Says you!" Desmond yelped. "You weren't fucking shot! I think my skull's caved in on the right side!" He immediately calmed when he saw the darkened glare Shaun shot him and held his hands up. "Sorry, I'm just a little high-strung right now. Better me then you."

"Not… Don't start," Shaun groaned.

"So, we're letting Luc off with a slap on the wrist?" Rebecca inquired. "That's it?"

Desmond knew Shaun's logic and couldn't fault it; they all had pasts that they wanted to keep hidden and none of them had the right to attack Lucy for trying to protect herself, her interests, and her responsibilities in the same breath. "Yes, Becca, that's it." He extended his hand towards Greg with a weary smile. "Desmond Miles, novice-class."

"Shaun Hastings, novice-class as well," Shaun introduced with a nod.

Rebecca looked hesitant, but when she saw how Lucy ready was to be hurt, she couldn't hold a grudge. She'd known the woman since they were teenagers, known she'd had some sort of past she never spoke of, and a smile broke her fierce scowl. She ruffled Lucy's hair and held her hand out with a significantly brighter, "Rebecca Crane, master-class."

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her teammates were really going to let the whole matter drop without incident, a weight lifted from her shoulders that the worst was over. _Well, the worst of the violent outbursts. There's still a lot of difficult ground to cover._

"LUUUUUUCY!"

A compact and obviously zealous blur darted out of the crowd of curious onlookers and a petite bit of an Assassin launched at Lucy, almost bowling the woman over as stick-thin arms wrapped around her neck. The assailant resolved herself into a young lady with sandy blond hair and, when she turned her head, warm hazel eyes and a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Rebecca was the only one to react at first and she tackled the petite young woman with an exuberant, "Shauna!"

"…I'm now thoroughly confused," Shaun muttered as he scratched the back of his head.

Desmond patted Shaun on the shoulder and watched as the tangle of happy ladies resolved itself into breathless hellos and inquiries. "At least I'm not the only one."

* * *

After the initial chaos of a rough greeting and a surprising amount of warm welcomes back for Lucy, the team had gone their separate ways to either catch up with family or get cleaned up and sleep. Desmond was one of the ones who opted for the latter and he could have cried and fallen to his knees in worship and prayer when he found that his room not only had a luxurious looking bed in it, but its own bathroom. "No more group showers!" were the first words out of his mouth.

Desmond's glee was dampened a little when he realized that he had no _clean_ clothes to change into and decided that shampoo and a bathtub would be a sufficient analog for a washer until he could either find new clothes or wash what little he had. The only bullet he had to bite was not washing his boxers, but he would be damned before he ran around buck naked in a strange environment. He also wasn't happy that his favorite hoodie was trashed, but was pleased to see that the wifebeater he wore underneath was in good order still, so that and his jeans were washed in short order.

Desmond followed thereafter and he swore that a shower had never felt so good in his entire life, the hot water reminding him that he was far tenser then he had been aware. By the time he was done, he felt like a pile of goo and sleep sounded like an even better idea, but a pang from his thigh reminded him that he still had matters to tend to. He looked down at the wound and sighed when he found blood had trailed down to his ankle from what had turned out to be a surface wound and not a through and though.

"Better then straight though," Desmond murmured to himself as he rummaged around for any type of first aid kits. _With my shitty luck, I'm going to have to traipse out of here in my boxers to find something._ He figured he would sooner use his ruined hoodie and, just as he was preparing to tear the garment up, he found a decent kit hidden in the back of the bathroom sink. _Thank God._ He grabbed the kit and popped it open to find a couple of band-aids. He cut them into small strips and carefully pulled the gash on his temple together, thankful that it didn't bleed with the upset. When that minor inconvenience was over with, he closed the kit to grab it and his wifebeater to head out into the bedroom proper, scowling at the sticky trail of dried blood that pulled at his leg.

Though, discomfort, pain, and weariness all went to hell when Desmond walked out of the bathroom and found something wholly unexpected sprawled out across the bed. Rather, it was someone and that someone was a very annihilated Shaun Hastings. "Um…" was all Desmond could think to say.

Shaun seemed to be dead to the world, since he didn't move a muscle, eyes closed and glasses skewed across his face.

Desmond went over to Shaun, dropping his things before he poked the older man's chest. He flinched when a hand shot up to grab his wrist and he could do nothing more than squeak in surprise when he was yanked downward. With his attempts to right himself, he wound up laying on Shaun, legs caging his ribs, and _very_ aware that he didn't have all that much on. "Eh, Shaun? Don't tell me you're sleeping again."

Shaun cracked his eyes open with a smug smile and an even more smug, "I wanted to see if the Venus Flytrap's methods actually worked on unsuspecting prey." He pulled Desmond closer. "I think they do."

The look Desmond was getting was familiar –a bit too familiar– and he tried to pull back. "Shaun, we have no idea what Lucy's got up her sleeve and it was a really long handful of days and we're tired and I'm bleeding…"

"Excuses," Shaun replied lightly. "Lucy and Rebecca have intentions of decrypting the last of Ezio's memories and in a few days, I'm going to give the Mighty Lobotomizer a whirl."

Desmond snickered at Shaun's name for the Animus 2.0. "That means that we're going to have an early day tomorrow and I want to…" Any protests he had disappeared when the same hand that had yanked him down landed over his crotch. "Goddamnit, take no for an answer, would you!"

Shaun looked perfectly innocent, despite the lewd rolling of his palm against the front of Desmond's boxers. "For all your talk of forging stronger bonds, you certainly do balk at taking it to another level."

"Trust and sex are not the same damned thing!" Desmond tried and he knew his defense was as weak as his voice sounded. He buckled when Shaun's hand pressed harder against his crotch, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth as he tried to muffle the moans that wanted to escape his throat.

"Have you ever had a one-night stand?" Shaun countered evenly.

Desmond steadied himself against Shaun, hands splayed out across his chest as he choked on a groan. He had forgotten that the older man had the worst habit of being able to incapacitate him and hold an in-depth conversation on the meaning of life at the same time. "N-No," he replied shakily.

"Then sex and trust are the same thing to you," Shaun stated smugly.

"B-But…" Desmond's defenses weakened drastically with the genius movements of Shaun's hand and he knew he'd wind up with more than blood sticking to his skin if he didn't put his foot down. "Seriously… stop." He sagged in relief when Shaun took the hint and stopped, but still wanted to smack the man for riling him up – there was no way he was going to sleep now. "Thank you… Hey!"

Shaun sat up against the headboard and pulled Desmond squarely into his lap. "Calm down, love, I stopped." He grabbed the first aid kit Desmond had long forgotten about and flipped it open to find the bare necessities to take care of his wound. He was quiet as he pulled out antiseptic swatches and pads and gauze, amber eyes intent on the supplies while aware that Desmond stared at him just as intensely.

"You're confusing."

"Like you aren't."

Desmond recoiled at the short reply, brow furrowed when he heard anger in Shaun's voice. "Come _on_, what did I do now?" He had a fair idea of the answer already, but what was he supposed to do?

Shaun stopped and looked up at Desmond with a serious frown on his lips. "It's what you won't do: Make up your mind."

"I'm _tired_, Shaun."

"And you were damn well ready to shag on the way here." Shaun pulled open an alcohol swab, packet pinched between his thumb and forefinger while he used his teeth to tear the tab off. "I would really love to know where your boundaries lay because you're quite annoying when they're crossed."

Desmond blushed hard from embarrassment and ducked his head. "I… ow…" He winced when the alcohol swab was run over his thigh, teeth grit as the wound burned and throbbed back to life. He didn't talk until the pain subsided and he could trust his voice. "I don't know… God, why is this harder than it has to be?"

"You're overcomplicating matters," Shaun murmured as he cleaned the blood from Desmond's leg, having to apply extra pressure in some spots where the blood had dried. "Keep it simple."

The advice seemed to help because the next words Desmond spat out were painfully honest. "You can't remember shit from before we parted ways and I'm not going to take advantage of you because you feel like you have to hold up some end of a relationship."

Subject 17 sounded angry, hurt, confused, and lost all in the same breath and it stabbed a spike of guilt through Shaun. He also felt a little indignation at Desmond's choice in words and shot back, "You talk like there's nothing there when there clearly is."

Desmond prodded Shaun between the eyes. "Up here, there's something, but it really only seems to come out when you're friggin' sleeping!" He grabbed Shaun's wrist to stop him and used his other hand to hold the older man's chin. "What I said on the way here, I wasn't screwing around, but I'm not going to push."

"Desmond-"

"I can see that you're holding back. That… That you're even letting me this close to you is more than I thought I'd ever get back and I'm not willing to jeopardize everything because of some sort of pressure." Desmond dropped his hand and let Shaun's wrist go, gray-brown eyes telling of his inner defeat. "I said I would wait and I meant it."

Shaun wanted so badly to bark at Desmond for being an idiot, but he couldn't. He was frustrated, true, but how much more frustrated was Desmond? _How hard was it to act like he didn't know me when he realized my memory was wasted? How frustrating has it been for him to start from scratch? It wouldn't be fair to snap… not with the lengths he's going to._

"That sort of really hurts."

Shaun realized he was lingering a little too long over Desmond's wound with the swab and gently blew on the deep gouge to ease the burning. He didn't miss the shiver that ran through the younger novice's body, but he let it go without remark. "It's not for lack of trying," he murmured as he dug around the kit for an antibacterial ointment.

"I know that," Desmond replied quietly. "God knows I love you for trying."

Just like the first time he had heard them, the words sent a flush of warmth through Shaun's chest and reaffirmed that he wasn't just following a lead. _There was something very real between us. I just need to find it again._ He found the ointment and uncapped it, carefully smoothing the sticky salve around the ragged edges of the wound. "Thank you, by the way."

"What for?" Desmond asked around a wince.

"For taking yet another bullet for me." Shaun unpackaged a large swatch of gauze and carefully set it over the wound before he taped into place with careful hands. "I thought you were going to kill those Assassins, to be honest."

A grin broke Desmond's frown and he nodded in agreement. "I was damn near close to it." He moved his leg so Shaun could wind bandages around his leg to catch whatever blood couldn't be absorbed by the gauze. When the end was taped in place, he thanked Shaun and went to move, but was surprised to find that he was held in place.

"It's familiar," Shaun whispered as he wrapped his arms around Desmond's waist. "So don't leave."

A real, honest smile was Desmond's answer and he slunk down to lay between Shaun's legs, upper torso pillowed against Shaun's, comfortable with his loose embrace. He just laid in silence, his rampant fears quelled for the moment, and wasn't aware that he was so tired until too late.

"Pleasant dreams," Shaun murmured as he kissed the top of Desmond's head. He might still have a lot missing from his life, but things felt _right_ at that particular moment. As long as they continued to feel right, he would keep breaking through his self-inflicted walls to find what he had lost until he _knew_ that they were right.

* * *

**Whoo! Another day, another update! *dances around* **


	15. Family Reunion

Lucy had never thought she'd be so happy to be away from the team, but she found that she was grateful that they wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away. When they had parted ways, she had immediately enlisted Zack and her little sister, Shauna, in the task of getting the Animus 2.0 and the rest of the computers inside to set them up. She enjoyed their easy company and the fact that they didn't needle her for information as they worked.

But, Lucy knew the serenity wouldn't last and could only sigh when her father appeared at the entrance to the team's new hub. Greg didn't say anything at first, just watched Lucy work with the jumble of technology that centered on what he swore was an oversized dentist's chair. His silence wasn't permanent and he finally asked, "What in the name of God is that thing?"

"It's called the Animus," Lucy replied distractedly as she tried to reinitialize the Animus 2.0. It was much harder without the mainframe supercomputers backing the system and it was frustrating trying to force the stronghold's inferior systems to keep up with the payload. "…It's a machine I helped design."

Greg ambled into the room and sat down on a roll-around chair by Lucy. He took a moment to admire the way she flew through lines of code and commands that meant little to him, impressed with her prowess. "What does it do?"

"I'm really too busy to fight with you right now, Dad."

Greg made a small sound of recognition and actually chuckled as he leaned back. The last time he had spoken to Lucy, they'd fought over her interpretations of Assassin lore and her scientific theories. It wasn't a new argument between the two; Greg was a very visceral man that thought in two terms while Lucy was more abstract and capable of thinking in four terms. He had never liked her wildly imaginative ideas and their constant differences on such matters had eventually driven Lucy away. It was a surprise to have her back after so many years, but he wanted to know what had happened and how she was and if she'd ever found her answers.

"Staring won't help, Dad," Shauna politely supplied from where she was idly perched on the edge of the Animus 2.0. "And be nice, Lucy. Zack could have shot you on sight."

"I'm never going to live that down," Zack grumbled.

Greg laughed and leaned forward to put a hand on Lucy's arm to stop her obsessive dogging of the Animus 2.0's system. "I am genuinely curious, Luc. Please, I tracked you down to talk."

Lucy heard the sincere edge in her father's voice and sighed as she turned from the computer. "Talk about what?" she inquired almost wearily.

"Well, first of all, I want to know how my little girl is doing," Greg replied.

_Still thinks of me like I'm a kid,_ Lucy chuckled to herself. "I'm doing okay, Dad. When I left the stronghold, I made my way south until I met Rebecca at the NYC stronghold. I made master-class rank there and, when the leader died, somehow gained control and a small cadre of Assassins that refused to leave."

"People always were drawn to you," Zack noted lightly. "That makes sense."

Lucy smiled and tucked her unbound hair behind her ears. "I met Shaun in the UK on my Trial mission and later met Desmond… in Abstergo." She waited for the backlash and was prepared to explain everything in the necessary order. After almost facing the firing squad from the team, she figured that putting all the cards on the table was the safer bet.

"And why were you in Abstergo?" Greg asked with a definite edge of malice in his voice.

"It's a long story."

"I have a while."

"Okay…" Lucy finally tied her hair up when it became an annoyance. "Through my novice training, I decided to attend university at my mentor's insistence. He said it would be a waste to let my intelligence wan in the face of my training, so I matriculated for neurological and genetic sciences. Didn't net me very many friends, but after I became a master-class, it came in handy for a mission I'd been handed. It wasn't easy, but my credentials managed to get me inside Abstergo, where I went sleeper for three years, feeding information back to the stronghold."

Conveniently, Lucy left out the parts about almost being caught by another employee and her near termination, Vidic's oblivious interjection, and the way her mission had become captivity with the way Abstergo hawked her movements.

"What would inspire you to do that?" Zack sounded confounded over the notion of _wanting_ to work with Templars.

"They hired me because of my theories on genetic memory," Lucy stated with more confidence then she felt. "When I went in, I was only supposed to figure out why the Templars were so quiet, but my stay was extended when I found evidence of human testing. As it turns out, Abstergo's been dealing in genetic memory projects for a while and it _is_ a viable, honest-to-God truth."

Greg didn't look convinced, but he reminded himself to stay his tongue. "What were they doing?"

"They were using Assassins to uncover the locations of the Pieces of Eden… sixteen people died because of Abstergo's Animus." Lucy motioned to Rebecca's "Baby". "That's what this machine does – it accesses, activates, and records genetic memories. But, before I got in, it was a very dangerous process because of something called the Bleeding Effect. Simply, the mind can no longer differentiate between reality and what it witnesses in the Animus' world, driving the individual insane."

"And you have one _why_?" Shauna asked with a scrunched scowl.

"I upgraded a lot of the systems and fought very hard to limit the time each subject spent in the Animus," Lucy replied. "When we lost Subject Sixteen, the Templar scientist I worked with, Vidic, finally listened to me. Where it took a week to cover a whole family tree of Assassins with the first sixteen, it took as long to cover one sequence of events with Seventeen." She smiled and drew her legs up to sit Indian-style. "I know working quietly with Templars seems traitorous, but… I found what I was looking for."

The statement halted Greg's inquisition in Lucy's motives to go inside Abstergo and he merely nodded as a sign for her to continue speaking. Time had taught him that sometimes it was better to let someone explain themselves rather then make hasty assumptions.

"I wasn't wrong, Dad," Lucy stated, almost self-conscious as she ducked her head. "I could have left when Sixteen died, but I heard that Seventeen, a rouge Assassin, was the one the Templars had been looking for." She looked up with a bright smile. "He was the one we were all looking for: The descendant of the Eagle of Masyaf. If you don't believe me, I have the memory records on me! From the first memory to the last, I have Altaϊr ibn La-Ahad's life on my hard drive. Even better, the old texts were right in saying that the Prophet was a descendant as well; we actually finished the Prophet's memory sequence before Abstergo chased us out."

Zack was the first one to catch on. "So this seventeenth subject is someone that's with you."

Lucy nodded. "Desmond."

Greg hated to be the critic, but it seemed awfully farfetched to him because he really couldn't grasp the magnamity of the Animus' abilities. "Sweetheart, I do not want to sound like an old codger, but how on earth can you know that–"

The argument dead ended when Lucy brought up still shots of Altaϊr, Ezio, and Desmond. The resemblance was unmistakable and even Shauna, once Lucy's fiercest supporter, was floored by the three profile images.

"The middle man is Ezio Auditore, the Prophet and the Eagle of Firenze," Lucy stated as she put her laptop where he father could see it, just to remind him of the truth in the matter. _Might as well totally bowl him over._ She pulled up another set of shots and put them in a window below the first. "We've also found the Jackal."

"You have got to be kidding me," Greg murmured in pure surprise. "That's that Shaun kid?"

"Yes. He might not look like it, but Shaun is actually built of decent Assassin material," Lucy chuckled. "While Desmond undergoes his Trials, Shaun's going to be going through his own ancestor's memories to try and find the answers to a few confusing questions we picked up along the way."

"What the hell," Greg grumbled as he threw his hands up. All those years of disregarding the facts left him with little more to do then accept that his daughter had been right the whole time. "What did you find?"

In good order, Lucy explained the tail-end memories they had from Altaϊr and the codex he'd written that was found by Ezio. She then detailed the second codex that had been penned by Malik and the hints both Masters had left behind. It wasn't so easy to explain what they'd seen at the end of Ezio's most prominent memories because not even she was sure, but her family seemed to take the news of a dead entity warning them that they were toast.

"These temples we have to find… I think that the clues Malik and Altaϊr left behind in their codexes pertain to the temples that Minerva spoke of," Lucy stated. "We need to know if they're found through the Animus or physically, so Shaun's agreed to search through Malik's life for any evidence of his codex."

"Because both of them together will have all the answers?" Shauna asked. She was a little unnerved by her sister's relay of past and recent events, but she focused on the facts to ward off fear.

"We hope," Lucy admitted. "But, it's a pretty concrete bet since Altaϊr went obsessive over the Apple after he claimed possession over it."

Zack leaned back against the wall and flick a wrist towards the Animus 2.0. "What if you do have to find these locations physically? How's that thing going to help?"

Lucy's grin turned a little devious. "The one benefit of the Bleeding Effect is that the ancestor's abilities are augmented in the descendant. Desmond has every single skill Altaϊr and Ezio ever learned, as well as his own, which is why I want him to go through the Trials. When Shaun's done, God willing, he'll be on the same level."

"That's creepy fucking shit you're playing with," Zack pointed out. "But, you did damn good, sis."

Greg couldn't have agreed more, but any words he had to share were cut off by the interruption of one of the posted guards. "What is it?" he demanded, sensing trouble in the way the young woman tried to catch her breath.

"Intruders."

* * *

"I think we're in trouble…"

"Really, thanks for that note, genius."

The Assassin that functioned as Zack's eyes and ears when he wasn't around, Ariana, prodded Ehren hard with her Mac9. "What part of quiet don't you people get?"

Marishka dared to move forward and showed amazing guts by swatting Ariana's gun down towards the ground. "Don't point that at my brothers, you bitch."

Seiya smirked when Ariana and a few other Assassins gaped at the thirteen-year-old. "Mari, come back here, be quiet, and keep your hands up."

Josh reined Marishka back in and smiled apologetically at Ariana. "Sorry, don't shoot her."

Ariana looked tempted to do just that, but was halted by a very loud command to stop from a voice she recognized as Zack's. She turned and found the tousle-haired Assassin running towards the very large group of detainees with a blond woman in tow that she didn't recognize immediately. When the face clicked, she and a few others gaped in surprise as Lucy and Zack came up to the outer ring of Assassins.

"They're cool," Zack got out between breathless draws for air. "Guys, stand down! They're with us, they're Assassins from the NYC stronghold."

By that point, news of the siege on the New York stronghold had gotten around and the Assassins lowered their guns with varying levels of apology written across their expressions.

When Lucy was sure it was safe, she darted into the crowd and tightly hugged Savaş, whom she had trusted the whole time to keep her group together and alive. She couldn't properly relate how relieved she was to see them all safe, but her gut twisted when her mental tally came up a few heads short. "Where are…?"

"A couple of teams stayed behind to make sure," Savaş stated with a warm smile. "They will be here by nightfall. Don't worry, everyone escaped with their lives."

"Thank God." Lucy laughed with the initiates and younger novices came up and crowded her in an awkward group hug. "You all did so well," she stated loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'm honored to call you all my brothers and sisters and I can't thank you enough for putting yourself in danger like you did."

"You ain't pissed over blowing the stronghold up?" Josh asked.

Lucy shook her head. "If you'd done it while inside, I'd be furious. But, I would expect nothing less from any of you." Pride shone in her eyes and her smile was genuine and bright as she turned to Zack. "By the way, guys, this is my little brother, Zack."

"Little what?!" Fang-Yi trilled.

Lucy laughed and stated, "This is my home stronghold. That's why I brought us all here; we'd be guaranteed safe harbor once the kinks were worked out." She giggled when she heard some familiar grumbling about being held at gunpoint. "Like I told the others, this is one of the safest strongholds because no one ever gets past the front door."

Zack stood back with the rest of his guard squad, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched the newly arrived New York Assassins crowd Lucy and make sure she was unharmed. _She's really done good for herself,_ he realized with a soft sigh. _Somehow, she made it through this big bad world okay._ It made him feel better after years of worrying about his older sister and he couldn't say he wasn't proud of her. _Twenty-five and a Master of Assassins… Couldn't be more proud to call her my sister._

_

* * *

_

Slowly and very calculatingly, Vidic looked around the empty, circular room. The sleek black conference and luxurious leather executive chairs that totaled twelve around the table were mere decorations, as was the black and white checkered tile and expensive art pieces that hung from the white and black trimmed walls. He had never had much of a like for the room because, while it was meant to bring a sense of openness with the décor, it always felt like a prison to him. It felt superfluous as well, since it was a rare and dire occasion that actually brought more than himself to the table. The tiny projectors that also totaled twelve were the only useful items in the room, ingenious devices that allowed the Conciliate of Twelve to scold and threaten him from all over the world.

All was quiet at the moment, but Vidic knew the clock was ticking down. Literally, the contemporary wall clock that hung between a Rembrandt and Da Vinci glaringly reminded him that there was little time left until the Brothers met to glean his success against the NYC Assassins and see if he had learned anything useful. His stomach twisted and sweat beaded his brow at the thought of telling them that he had failed. The leader had already made it clear that many more failures would result in his termination (a dressy word for "murder") and this recent flop would land him in incalculable trouble.

But, what had Vidic looking so calculating was the fact that he didn't have to face the Conciliate alone. Tavares and a sparse few brave enough to betray their Creed could face their superiors as well; Vidic specifically wanted Tavares in the room to face justice. The simpering excuse of an Assassin had done nothing but irk him and lead him along by the ear and it was about time he was humiliated a little. However, Tavares had an irritating habit of needling out of trouble with his charismatic smile and placating words and Vidic wasn't sure he wanted to chance Tavares making himself look good.

_And he's smart enough to make me look worse._ Vidic wiped his hands down the sides of his slacks before his hand darted into his pocket for his cell phone. _It's a risk, but no greater a chance then attacking Stillman and her cohorts head-on._ He shot Tavares and his small sleeper cell a text message; he knew they were all in the building and told them to meet him in the conference room within the next two minutes.

It was a nasty trick, but Vidic did not want to give them any more time then he had to. If they walked in right when the meeting started, they'd have to think _too_ fast to come up with a decent excuse for their failure. That would ultimately make Vidic look much better, because he'd had time to prepare his arguments and reports. _Anything to stay my own execution._

_

* * *

_

"Becca!"

Rebecca's head darted over the edge of her laptop and she grinned brightly at Shauna as the novice hovered in the doorway. "Hey, sweetie, what's shaking?" She looked dog tired, but when she'd tried to sleep, her eyes had popped right back open. There was too much in her head to sleep, so she had taken to her laptop to review Ezio's memories and try to find a place for the team to start at.

"Lucy wanted me to tell you that your Assassin's made it here safely," Shauna replied with a hesitant smile. She was good with strangers, but after learning just _who_ her sister's team was and how important they were, she had found herself with a case of hero worship that left her feeling awkward.

"Really?" Rebecca dropped what she was doing in a heartbeat and got up, tugging her jeans on over her bed shorts and throwing on her sneakers with rushed movements. "When did they get in and is everyone safe?"

Shauna nodded and moved aside when Rebecca darted out of the room. "They're all okay," she replied.

Rebecca didn't reply, but she did stop long enough to tell Shauna, "Tell Lucy I'm getting Des and Shaun and that we'll be right there."

"Yeah, they're all in the main lounge," Shauna noted. "The big room you guys passed to get here."

"Thanks!" Rebecca took off down the halls, thankful that she was good with directions, and made record time to Shaun's quarters. Without a thought to privacy, she opened the door when she found it was open and stopped dead in her tracks.

Shaun was sprawled out on his back against the headboard, glasses crooked on his face and arms wrapped tightly around Desmond, who slept just as soundly against him.

_Oh. My. God… Cute!_ Rebecca's inner "hentai" (as Seiya liked to call her) squealed at the scene in front of her and, again, she negated the rules of privacy as she pulled out her cell phone. With deft movements, she brought the on-board camera online and snapped a quick picture of the pair, her grin threatening to split her face. _That is going to make such a cute collection to my photo album!_

Rebecca was so engrossed in her study of the admittedly well-taken shot that she didn't notice any movement in the room until she heard a _thunk_ from somewhere nearby and felt something press against the front of her right sneaker. Slowly, she peered around her cell phone and paled when she found a hunting knife lodged into the carpet, close enough that if she'd moved her foot, the knife would have taken off a toe.

"Delete that right now," Desmond grumbled.

Rebecca looked up and flushed bright red. "Um, afternoon…" She made enough noise and movement with her cell phone to appear as though she had deleted the incriminating evidence and tucked it away when she was done covering her tracks. Still grinning sheepishly, she picked Desmond's knife out of the ground and moved over to hand it back to him. "Um, Lucy wants us in the main common room. The gang made it here safe."

"And that's an excuse for taking unauthorized photos?" Shaun inquired acidly.

"Er…"

Desmond didn't look quite as aggravated as his knife would have hinted and he sat up with a loud yawn and a stretch, fully aware of Shaun's stare on his profile. He then became aware of the fact that he was clad in only boxers and leered at Rebecca. "You _did_ delete that photo, right?"

"Swear it on my family's graves!" A complete lie, because Rebecca's family was still alive and well. "Now, c'mon!"

Desmond got up to see if his jeans had dried yet; the heavier seams were still a tad damp, but he was generally thankful that he had pants to wear. "Come on, Shaun. I wanna make sure everyone's safe for myself."

"Coming, coming…" Shaun had a harder time getting up, his broken leg stiff and angry from the hours of abuse it had suffered. When he tried to put pressure on it and it buckled, he cursed himself for not sticking to crutches.

"You need a hand?" Desmond asked.

Stubborn pride forced Shaun to decline the offer. He stood still for a moment and worked his leg at the knee and blew out a sigh of relief when the pain dulled into a throb and his leg held his weight. "Okay, lead the way, Becca." He grabbed Desmond's shirt off of the bed and threw it to him, neither of them bothering with shoes out of sheer laziness.

"Thanks." Desmond buttoned his jeans and threw his shirt on over his head, pulling it so that it settled comfortably. "When did the group get in?"

"A few minutes ago, I guess," Rebecca replied.

Desmond felt more relieved than he thought he would and saw the same relief hidden behind Shaun's indifferent expression. "Your face won't crack if you smile," he chided quietly.

"Why should I? You and Rebecca are smiling enough for the whole stronghold," Shaun shot back, but his blank mask cracked with the slight upturn of his lips.

Desmond rolled his eyes and stayed close to Shaun in case his leg gave way. "You know, it seems stupid, but we've really got to talk to someone about getting new clothes. I don't know about you guys, but I really don't want to wear the same bloody clothes all the time."

"Amen," Rebecca agreed with a sour glance aimed at the rust-red stains splattered across her jeans and t-shirt. "But, that's an issue for later." She took a sharp right at a fork in the hall, her face-splitting grin returning when she heard the blessedly familiar chatter from the gaping doorway straight ahead. "Straight on 'til morning!" she called over her shoulder before she took off.

"Yes, thank you very much," Shaun grumbled under his breath. "She is such a child."

"Yeah, but it's kind of cute," Desmond laughed.

"…Did you just call Rebecca 'cute'? That woman's a plague!"

"Maybe, but she's easy to get along with."

Shaun couldn't contest that point, since he had first forged a stronger bond with Rebecca then Lucy when he'd first met the women. She could be annoyingly happy sometimes, but she was a dependable ally and a loyal friend. He was jerked out of his thoughts when Desmond cut in front of him and he sort of stared when the novice placed a quick kiss on his lips. "Huh?"

"Good morning, by the way," Desmond stated with a lopsided, boyish grin.

Shaun smiled and kissed Desmond back. "Morning, love." He gave Desmond a push ahead of him and followed at a slightly slower pace, the weight of anxiety lifting from his shoulders when he entered the common room and found everyone he hadn't been aware he'd worried for present.

"Desmond! Shaun!"

The two could have had superhuman reflexes and they wouldn't have had time enough to dodge the flurry of happy Assassins that came at them. Rainer and Ehren almost took Desmond off his feet while Fang-Yi, Mayako, and Josh tackled Shaun.

"Hey, glad you guys could join the party," Desmond laughed as he traded strong embraces and slaps on the back with the group that gravitated towards him and Shaun. He did a quick count and came up short, gray-brown eyes landing on Savaş for an answer.

"They'll be along," Savaş replied as he patted Desmond and Shaun on the shoulders. "It's good to see you all alive and well."

"Same here," Shaun admitted.

"Dude, you woulda had a blast if you'd stuck around," a master-class, Seth, called from somewhere in the fray. "Literally, you'd of had a blast!"

"We blew those Templar motherfuckers to Kingdom Come," Rainer declared proudly. "…Some of us are still mildly hearing impaired, but man did we stick it to them!"

Desmond grinned at Shaun and pointed at Rainer. "I love these guys, do you know that?"

"With your ancestors' perchance for pointed destruction, I have no hard time believing you," Shaun shot back. He squawked indignantly when someone small jumped on his back from a nearby chair and found David clinging on for dear life. "Well, hello to you too."

Recounts of the Assassin's flight from New York and gleeful notes of everyone having gotten out okay started going around as the Assassins grouped around the Eagle and Jackal's descendants. Rebecca jumped in happily and literally – she helped herself to a piggyback at Desmond's expense. Zack and Shauna joined in, curious as they were about their sister's cadre; Lucy and Greg hung back to watch with fond smiles.

"You'll see later, but this is how Masyaf responded when Altaϊr or Malik would return," Lucy murmured. "Even before they became the joint Masters, their return was always a celebrated event." She glanced at her father. "They assembled under me, but they're all inextricably drawn to Shaun and Desmond. I just don't know if it's a coincidence or destiny."

"If they are who you say they are," Greg replied, "then it's destiny."

* * *

With the day come and gone and the last of the stragglers from New York in, the stronghold had finally returned to some semblance of normal. There was naturally more commotion as the "natives" (Josh's joking name) acclimated themselves to their new, live-in brothers and got to know them better. By dinner, it was markedly quieter and Lucy had called her Assassins to the common room to get down to business. Getting everyone situation had taken some doing, but that gave Rebecca time to connect her laptop to the TV mounted on the most easily-viewed wall.

When everything was set, Lucy whistled to get everyone's attention and motioned for those closest to the entrance to hit the lights. "Okay, guys, I know it's been a long day, but we've got a lot of work to do and I don't think we have a lot of time to do it."

Savaş, being one of the closest, could already see the memory records Rebecca had just pulled up. "You managed to finish Ezio's memories before the siege?"

"By the skin of our teeth," Desmond laughed.

"Fact and the matter is," Lucy stated, "we have a mountain of problems to wade through. Our foremost problem pertains to the Templars and the Apple. We don't know specifics, but we know that they're planning to use it in conjunction with their satellite technology."

"Space artifact?" Ehren grumbled with a wrinkled nose. "Are they bonkers?"

"No," Fang-Yi corrected, "they're genius. On a small scale, the Apple can take control of an incalculable number of people. By using the satellite system we have in place right now… It's possible that they could overtake every open mind in the world."

"Exactly, so we have to find the Apple, the satellite, and stop them." Lucy shifted her weight slightly and glanced over the apprehensive group. "Our second problem is a little bigger than the Apple. From the end of Ezio's memories, we've found that…" She faltered, unsure of how to relate the doomsday proclamation they'd been delivered.

"Something is happening that threatens existence," Shaun spoke up. "Rebecca, play back the last encounter in Rome, please." He figured it would be better to get the core information out, then smooth out the details when it was done. _It won't be received well,_ he surmised as the last plaguing memories from Ezio played out over the TV. _But we need as many people as possible on hand to figure out the location of those temples._ He glanced sidelong and saw Desmond doing everything in his power to ignore the playback. _And he's taking it all on alone._

When the playback ended, Lucy took advantage of the stunned silence to forge ahead, thankful to Shaun for his interjection. "We need to find these temples, but first we have to figure out if we need to do it through the Animus or physically. Once we have the locations, it's down to us to find these Temples and activate them to stop whatever calamity Minerva tried to warn us about."

"But… she said that the world fried once," Anna pointed out. "What makes you think we can stop it again?"

"No one said it would be easy," Lucy replied. "We have to find the locations, find out how to activate them, and figure out if the gods are truly dead or dormant."

"This is too fucking abstract," Rainer pointed out, speaking the mind of everyone assembled.

That opened the floodgates and Lucy clearly fumbled when doubt piled up on top of anxious amazement. She had never faced such odds before and with so many people stated how impossible the odds were to fight, she had no idea what to do.

"You're forgetting the fact that we still have to put Shaun through the paces."

Desmond's voice cut through the rising tension and silenced everyone with its sheer intensity. He didn't move from the wall, but it was clear that he wasn't happy about the doubts that had been voiced. "In Ezio's memories, we found evidence of a second codex left behind by Malik and he made it very clear that anything found between his descendant and Altaϊr's would hold the answers. If we didn't have the Jackal's descendant in our possession, we'd have reason to worry. But, we've got him and he's willing to go through the shit, so that's step one. There is no point in freaking out until we find out whether or not it's a red herring or a real clue. Right now, you're all focusing on finding that damned satellite installation and we're focusing on lobotomizing Shaun."

The joke wasn't appreciated by Shaun, but it broke the atmosphere neatly.

Desmond nodded and ruffled his hand through his hair. "When we find something out, you'll all know, and that's on the policy that you keep us ahead of what you guys find. There is no point is saving this world if we let the Templars enslave it."

_Bravo,_ Shaun applauded. _He's not exceptionally skilled with words, but he does know how to turn a bad situation around._ The thought brought a smile to his face and broke a little of the apprehension that plagued him. They'd already spoken on the matter and decided that it would be best that, if he were going to face the Animus 2.0, he should do it as soon as possible. In his opinion, the next day was a little severe, but it had to be done and, besides, had Desmond been allowed to pick his start date?

Of course not.

"What happens when we find the installation?" Savaş inquired.

"We destroy it and take back the Apple," Lucy replied simply.

Desmond's laugh broke the brewing conversation again and he glanced around, looking very much like his earliest ancestor with the predatory gleam in his eyes and twisted smile on his lips. "There's another problem that we're all avoiding. Even with everyone accounted for, aren't there still some of us missing?"

Lucy turned on Desmond in a flash of anger. "What are you saying, Desmond?"

"Tavares and four others are missing," Desmond stated without tact. "Where was Tavares all day yesterday?"

"We were on a mission," Ehren spoke up. "But, I left and returned to the stronghold after Savaş called…" He recalled the warning he had been given and glanced up almost guiltily. "As a matter of fact, he really didn't seem all that concerned when Savaş said that the Templars were moving toward the stronghold."

"He was nowhere to be seen all through the night," Seiya put in.

"And he was missing a great deal of the two days before last," Fang-Yi added.

Desmond held his hands out and shrugged when Lucy snapped back to glare at him. "What I am saying, Lucy, is that we have an insider and he's the reason why we haven't been able to stay ahead of the Templars, why they were able to find us, and why we had to run last night."

"But he is one of the busiest Assassins we have," Lucy shot back. "He's also one of the ranking superiors in the Brotherhood. How could he betray us?"

"How could Al Mualim betray Masyaf?"

"I… It can't happen, Desmond. There's a logical reason for the missing Assassins."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then we'll deal with them!"

Shaun and Rebecca had the good sense to move back because they could smell a fight brewing.

"I'll deal with them," Desmond snapped as he jerked a thumb at himself.

"You'd dare challenge my authority?" Lucy demanded in the same short tone. "Oh, you have a lot of nerve, Desmond, after all I've done…"

"I'm taking responsibility because you obviously can't do it yourself!"

That was it – those were fighting words and Lucy looked ready to show Desmond that he was not only out of line, but seriously outranked.

* * *

**Okay, had some fun with particular character's history, got the Grand Master of Assholes into trouble, and decided to get Shaun's ass into gear! *grins* Now, if only I could do that myself... Anyway, thanks to everyone who's reviewed and faved and watched me so far! It's a real treat! Thanks!**


	16. Sleeping Awake

"Mate, I think that was the dumbest thing you have _ever_ done."

Desmond flinched when Shaun prodded at his bruised nose and yanked back when his fingers moved in a way he definitely didn't like. "It's not fucking broken! Stop poking it!"

"Well, it's bloodier then it should be and fairly bruised," Shaun replied patiently. "Can I please see if it's broken or not?"

Desmond huffed and stopped jerking back from Shaun's exploratory touches to his abused nose. He still had no idea what'd hit him, because it sure as _hell_ couldn't have been Lucy's fist. All he knew is that the woman had come at him one moment and the next he was sprawled out in the floor with a bloody nose and split lip. He reckoned that it couldn't have been Lucy that hit him because when the punch had landed, it had felt like a brick to the face.

"Sorry, but it's broken," Shaun reported with a touch of wry amusement. "I suppose you were right when you said that Lucy doesn't hit like a girl." He pulled from the ever-helpful first aid kit that sat by his thigh on the bed, targeting a long strip of thin band-aids.

"I wasn't kidding in the slightest," Desmond sighed. "But, who the hell else was going to say it!"

Shaun glanced over his glasses with a shrug. "You know Lucy's protective of the group. Someone had to make the point and that unfortunate someone just happened to be you."

"She didn't… OW!" Desmond shouted in a healthy assortment of English, Italian, and Arabic when Shaun abruptly snapped his nose back into alignment. His eyes watered to the point that he could barely see and his head throbbed back to life in migraine proportions. "Warn me next time!"

Shaun murmured an apology that didn't sound too apologetic and wadded up small strips of gauze. "This may be awkward…" he warned before he placed the wads in Desmond's nostrils to catch the new flow of blood.

Desmond glared, but didn't begrudge Shaun his methods. He could have been twenty times rougher and, though he resented looking like an idiot with the gauze shoved up his nose, he was thankful for the older novice's help.

"Was it like this between Altaϊr and Malik?"

Desmond almost missed the quiet question. "Um… yeah. Even when they were feuding over Solomon's Temple, they had a bond that couldn't be broken. Usually, though, it was Malik patching Altaϊr up, since his job wasn't too hazardous."

Shaun chuckled and unwrapped the first of the bandages, hands warm and gentle against Desmond's abused nose as he kept the bone in line and held it in place with the band-aid. "What do you think it'll feel like?"

"What's that?"

"Being injured so badly…"

Desmond now heard the edge of tension in Shaun's voice and his heart went out to him. _At least he's asking. Better to get it out now then causing a catastrophic desynch later._ So many more things went through the man's head and it all ended with a vague sense of happiness that Shaun was daring up open up to ask him. "It feels… Ah, how to explain it? There's an odd parallel between the memory and reality, so the wounds will feel real, but you'll know they're not real. In the memory, it'll be intense, but when you pull out, it's just gone."

Shaun placed the second bandage a bit up from the first and gently tamped both down with the pads of his fingers. "Is there any way to skip it?"

Desmond shook his head, already honed in on the reason why Shaun had fixated on that one particular instance.

In their last mission together, under Mila's guidance, their escape from Templar territory had ended in tragedy. Anthony and Mila had been killed instantly in the accident caused by their tails, while Desmond had gotten away with a bad case of whiplash and a fractured collar bone. Shaun, though, his left arm had been so badly mangled and both of them had been afraid that they would have to chance a hospital to have it removed. Desmond didn't have the constitution to do it himself and Shaun certainly couldn't and neither had been willing to risk being seen publicly. Infection had made recovery treacherous, but some fast thinking and creative first aid on Desmond's behalf had spared Shaun a disabled life.

To that day, he still couldn't look at the scars that dominated the better half of his upper arm. He still had nightmares over the pain he'd gone through and was terrified to think that he would have to experience a situation far too similar to his own, except with the results he'd feared.

"I'll be right there," Desmond murmured. "If it gets too intense, you can always back out or the girls will get you out." He turned to smile up at Shaun reassuringly. "I watched the whole debacle play out through Altaϊr and I can tell you that it won't be a very long sequence. Despite all that happened to him, Malik was a stubborn son of a bitch."

"Then… what happened that day, was it just fate?" Shaun asked with a light touch to the scar on Desmond's lip, the same one Altaϊr and Ezio had.

Desmond nodded. "I think so. If medicine had been more advanced, Malik might have kept his arm, but he couldn't given the times. We just lucked out big time with you." He started when he felt Shaun's hand land on his gut, where a scar only the two of them knew about resided. Memories of his own ill encounters rose to the surface, of the military issue bayonet that had pierced his gut in an ill-guided attempt to save Shaun in their early times together. He's almost bled out and flirted too vigorously with death. Then, he thought he had just been a fool, but now he knew it was in the same fashion as Altaϊr when he was impaled by Al Mualim's sword and Ezio when he'd fallen victim to Borgia's dagger.

"There, all patched up." Shaun went to pull his hands away and startled slightly when Desmond grabbed his wrists to kiss his knuckles. He was again taken aback by how familiar and unfamiliar it was to have Subject 17 be more intimate with him, but he didn't detest the grateful actions. "You're welcome, love."

Desmond lay back on the bed and stretched out. "So, it's late and I think I think it would be a good idea for you to be rested for tomorrow."

Shaun scoffed and waved the statement off. "If you think I'm actually going to be able to sleep, you're nutters."

"Commit me then."

Shaun rolled his eyes and put the first aid supplies away, laughing and yelping at the same time when Desmond grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back onto the bed. He smiled when those arms didn't let him go, fingers tracing nonsense patterns across his chest in the spirit of simple closeness.

"I think you'll like walking in Malik's shoes," Desmond murmured. "He could be a real bastard, but he turned out to be a real cool guy."

Shaun knew that was Desmond's way of calming him down and appreciated the effort.

"It won't be all bad. There are some good memories I took from the whole fiasco." Desmond moved a hand up to card his hand through Shaun's hair, teasing the ginger stands into small spikes. "Don't worry about it. Once you get used to it, there's nothing to it."

Shaun could hear the fatigue in Desmond's voice and carried on a hit or miss conversation with the younger novice until his words fell into a light snore. Carefully, he slipped from Desmond's arms and kissed him on the forehead with a quiet, "Good night, love" before he moved over to a desk where he knew he'd seen blank paper and some decent pencils. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to sleep, but he had more than enough ways to while away the time 'til zero hour.

* * *

It was close to midnight when Lucy's cell phone went off. Being of her background, she startled clear out of her already light slumber, hand closed around the gun hidden under her pillow. Quickly enough, she realized it was her phone that had woken her up and she grabbed for it eagerly, checking the ID with a thrill of excitement and an eager, "Lucy speaking."

"Did I wake you?"

Lucy tucked her gun away and flicked on the bedside lamp as she sat up, moving her mussed hair from her face. "It's fine. Have you heard anything?"

"How much have you found out? In case you didn't notice, there's a handful of us that are out of the loop." The caller was male, with a smooth baritone that could be as comforting as it could be threatening.

"We have pieces of everyone's plans and no idea how to make it all fit together," Lucy admitted with a loud sigh. "Shaun's agreed to go under starting tomorrow with Malik and we've figured out through a bizarre twist of events that the Templars are going to try to use a satellite to project the Apple's influence. And, in the middle of the bullshit in New York, we finished Ezio's memories and now we have to find twelve temples that are supposed to hold the key to stopping the end of the world."

"…Wait, end of the what?"

"The world," Lucy grumbled. "It's a very long and very twisted story that I'm not going to relate to you at twelve in the morning. Have you found anything out for yourself or are we still feeding that son of a bitch information for nothing?"

"No, no, I actually got something useful from that pompous windbag tonight." There was a note of exasperation in the caller's voice and a hint of fatigue. "Mind you, I'm not talking about Vidic."

Lucy sat up a little straighter. "The Grand Master then?"

"Vidic's on thin ice with the conciliate and amidst his raving, the Grand Master let a little something slip in the meeting. Anyone up for a trip to Nevada?"

Lucy's breath caught in her throat and she almost didn't dare to hope. "You… It's too late to be playing tricks like this!"

The caller's laughter was rich as he replied, "I'm not playing any tricks. The installation and the Apple are in Trinity, Nevada and Abstergo is planning to launch it at the end of the month. I've already contacted the stronghold leader in Trinity and asked them if a small team of five of our own could use them as a base of operations to scope out the compound and get the Apple."

"Oh my God…" Lucy was almost dizzy she was so excited. But, her glee quickly waned when it occurred to her that, no matter what information was fed to her, the damages done were irreparable. "You know… everyone noticed that the four of you aren't here."

"We knew that we'd have to be martyrs to our cause when we agreed to go static agent for you. But, don't worry about that right now. I'm sorry I woke you, but I thought that you would want to know as soon as possible."

"Yes and thank you," Lucy replied, still breathless and now a little sad. "I'll need to think of a way to tell the group without being direct, then get a team together, so give me a week."

"Why not tell them the truth?"

"Our little bird has a very big mouth."

"Ah… So no one knows that you weren't the only sleeper?"

"No and I want it kept that way, since we've had to make dangerous compromises to get this far." Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a strained breath. "I'll get back to you by the end of the week. You all stay safe, alright?"

"We will. …Oh, and Lucy, before you go, I found your little message to Abstergo very amusing. I thought Vidic was going to burst an artery when he saw it."

That got a laugh out of Lucy and she smiled dimly. "I thought you'd find that funny. Thank you… for everything."

_"_It's our honor," was the simple reply.

* * *

"Gooood morning!"

Shaun plastered Rebecca with his most acidic glare as he slouched into the Animus team's new base of operations, lack of sleep and decent coffee promising to make him hell to contend with. "Aren't you just disgustingly happy this morning?" he growled as he flopped down in a computer chair and banged his head against the desk to keep it there.

Desmond followed after Shaun, appearing to be a bit better rested, but no cheerier then the older novice. The bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones had turned a dark, angry bruise color overnight and his face was a bit puffy from the residual swelling. All he did was grunt a greeting at Rebecca and give Lucy the stink eye before he sank down next to Shaun and rested his head against his arm.

"Wow, it's gonna be a good day," Rebecca grumbled.

"We didn't sleep, his head is killing him, and I'm about to face the Almighty Lobotomizer in a misguided attempt to either commit suicide or land myself in the vegetable isle," Shaun shot back darkly. "What reason do we have to be happy?"

Rebecca couldn't argue the point and probably wouldn't have if she could. She did, however, extend an olive branch in the form of coffee she had run out with Shauna for earlier that morning. "Here boys. It's actually pretty good."

Shaun and Desmond didn't pick their heads up, but their hands did dart up to grab the oversized Styrofoam cups that were proffered. The latter did bother to mutter a word of thanks while the former just waved to Rebecca.

"So," Rebecca twittered in an attempt to keep communications open between her and the boys, "we got some good news last night! We found the location of the Apple!"

Desmond shot up like a bullet and stared at Rebecca with round, bruised eyes. "Are you fucking me?"

"Nope, that's Shaun's job!"

"Becca!"

Rebecca giggled and grinned brightly when Shaun bothered to raise his head, even if it was to sip at his coffee. "Fact in the matter is, it and its outer space ride are hiding in an abandoned military installation in the Nevada desert, the old Trinity test site to be exact."

"The last place anyone would think to look," Shaun murmured. "How did we come across this information?"

Rebecca grinned and pointed at her computer. "See, when you're a hacker, there's nothing you can't record!"

Lucy shot to her feet in a flurry. "Rebecca!"

Rebecca just smiled and kept her focus on Desmond and Shaun; Lucy could kiss her ass after turning on a brother. "We've gotta get our heads together, but we've got 'til the end of the month to talk to the Trinity stronghold leader and get a team in to get the Apple." She turned her smile on Desmond and pointed at him. "Just mull it over, fly-boy, but this is a mission just suicidal enough to constitute as your Trial."

Shaun and Desmond stared at each other when the thought struck home and stuck. "I could be a master-class by next month?" The thought was almost too big to handle, but it put a bright, excited grin on Desmond's face. "That would be… Christ, that would be awesome!"

Shaun bit down on any jealously that threatened to choke him, telling himself that he wasn't very far behind Desmond. "Go for it, mate." He had to bite down again on the word "love" now that the habit had returned to avoid Rebecca's heckling.

"Are we going to get started?" Lucy inquired into the ponderously silence, sounding surprisingly like Shaun on his more sarcastic days. She wasn't very happy with the way the team had given her the cold shoulder for hitting Desmond and she wanted nothing more than to focus on work to avoid socializing.

Rebecca, Shaun, and Desmond glared daggers at Lucy, who merely motioned towards the Animus 2.0 with a hand on her hip.

"I guess we should," Rebecca finally sighed. "I've got the hard drives switched out and she's all ready for ya."

Shaun nodded and didn't miss the reassuring squeeze to the thigh Desmond gave him, also sure that Rebecca hadn't missed it either. He appreciated that the woman did nothing more than smile and got up, amber eyes locking with the Animus 2.0 with a newfound respect for Desmond. The machine looked totally innocent when he was merely acting as back-up, but now that he had to deal with the thing himself, it looked many times more intimidating.

What calmed his nerves was the soft, "I'll be right with you," Desmond murmured in Italian.

Shaun took a deep breath and left his glasses by Rebecca's computer, his nerves further calmed when the woman flashed him her typical, bright smile and the rock devil horn's. He nodded and laid down in the same chair he'd seen Desmond take to a hundred times, his heart hamming in his chest when Rebecca imbedded a needle in his arm and hooked up a handful of biological systems monitors.

"We'll be here when you get back," Desmond stated calmly, unaware that he could be so nervous for someone else. He watched as Shaun closed his eyes, proud and scared at the same time that the older man was tackling the project head-first.

"We're online," Rebecca announced as Desmond settled behind her to watch the monitoring systems. "Okay, we've got lobby synch at a hundred percent and Baby's pulling up the archives."

It was so weird to watch the process from the other side and Desmond's attention was held raptly to the screens as Rebecca's computer finished the start-up procedures. He didn't think there was so much data (now understood some of the long "load" times he'd experienced) and he didn't know how to read a single line of code that loaded, but he was pretty sure that something wasn't right by the sheer volume.

"Dude…" Rebecca sounded awed as she leaned in closer to the screen. "You getting this, Lucy?"

"Yeah, what the hell is it?" Lucy asked quietly. She'd never, in all of her times working with the Animus and subjects, encountered such large volumes of anomalous data and she couldn't say if it was good or bad. "Be ready to pull the plug if this goes south, Rebecca."

Rebecca went to reply, but the final loading procedure results stopped her (and probably her heart) dead. "Jesus fucking Christ!" She reeled back in her chair, floored by the data that had Desmond leering at the screen in confusion. "It's cool, Des, it's _really fucking cool_!"

"What is it?" Desmond asked.

Rebecca turned to Desmond with a shit-eating grin on her face. "Do you know if he has any talents, Des? I mean, _anything_?"

"Um, he can draw, he's got the Sight…" Desmond picked his brain a little harder and added, "He has an eidetic memory."

Rebecca practically jumped out of her chair in excitement. "AWESOME!" She hugged Desmond tight and turned to point at the screen. "This, my dear Eagle, is a complete DNA sequence for four ancestors, starting with the illustrious King of Swords."

"A complete _what_?!" Lucy exclaimed.

Rebecca looked over at Lucy with a nod. "We can access any and every ancestral memory right now if we wanted to. It'd be a bad idea to jump poor Shaun right into the fray, but we've got the option once he gets used to the puppeting system."

"But that was just a theory," Lucy stated from her own little world of denial. "I mean, how can it be true?"

Rebecca shrugged nonchalantly, not all that interested in the science so long as it worked to their advantage. "Fact in the matter is, this guy comes from a line of geniuses and we've got the chips lined up for us."

Desmond smiled and shook his head with a soft sigh. _Way to show me up, Shaun._

_

* * *

_

Shaun had expected some sort of catastrophic calamity to strike him when he went under and he had to say that he was completely underwhelmed by the whole experience thusfar. He knew Rebecca had to boot up the right memories (if she could even find them) and get him through the puppeteering system, but the whole experience really was no more than a glorified dream at the moment.

"Hey Shaun!"

Shaun startled clear out of his study of the white matrix he had been put into and yelped in an embarrassingly loud way. "_What_, Rebecca?"

"We've got everything booted up and you're the man of the hour!" Rebecca replied exuberantly. "Thanks to that incredibly big head of yours, we've got full access to four ancestors and the Animus' is doing another search for more after encountering an anomaly in your data.

"When you say 'full access' you mean that there are no sequence blocks?" Shaun asked.

"Can't promise there's no glitches, but we could throw you all the way to the end of one of those ancestor's lives right now if we wanted to," Rebecca replied.

"I'd appreciate it if you refrained," Shaun grumbled. "And wait, how is it that you can access everything from my DNA memories while we had to crawl through Desmond's?"

"I'll give you Lucy's theory on it later," Rebecca replied. "Fact remains, we're gonna start you out just like Lucy stared Des out in Abstergo. Go 'head, take a look and see if anything's different now that you're done bitching at me."

Shaun halfway expected a prank and looked around to find the same white matrix he'd been looking at for God knew how long. "Nothing but white… The hell?" An inspired notion caused him to look down and he was pretty certain that he'd been wearing slacks, which did nothing to account for the pointedly familiar robes he found himself in. Inspired further, he looked at his hands and realized Rebecca had pulled a not-so funny on him when he found his skin was a dark, sun-kissed tan instead of never-seen-the-sun white.

"Your synch rates are perfect," Rebecca announced proudly, "so we can get right to it since I know how much you _love_ tutorials and instruction manuals…"

Shaun glared in a general, upward direction and heard Desmond laugh. "This isn't funny, Miles." Now that he was paying attention to more than Rebecca, he noticed that his voice, while still accented, was a touch deeper and the inflection more of a rolling purr. _I suppose I can see how this would be funny. Those idiots are seeing Malik and hearing me… God this is starkers…_

"Soooo?" Rebecca prompted.

"Make it something easy," Shaun finally replied. It was true, he did hate tutorials because he was perfectly capable of working through a new system all by himself, genius as he was. _It'd probably be beneficial to run through a couple of practice runs, but I don't think I'm that patient._ Now that it was assured that nothing was going to leave him in a vegetative state, he was excited to get right into the memory world, see what it was that Desmond always tried to describe to him.

"Not that!" Desmond's voice cut through the matrix in fantastic tones of "what the fuck".

"Okay, so it's a little traumatic…" Rebecca grumbled.

"What are you two fighting about?" Shaun demanded.

"Where to start… Oh, cute! We'll start here!"

Shaun didn't have much chance to argue or ask what Rebecca thought was so cute. He felt a tug at the back of his mind, a peculiar click that he was no stranger to. Last time he'd felt it, he'd gone amnesiac, but there was a difference this time; he could feel some sort of block move and an inescapable pull towards an abstracted place that he couldn't even begin to describe.

* * *

**The midday heat was almost staggering, the cloudless sky leering vibrant blue from above as the sun baked the parched desert terrain below. All but the most tenacious animals moved in the summer scorch and their human counterparts could have taken a page from their book and sought shadier shelter until the evening set in. But, humans were notably tenacious and so the daily beat of the sprawling, mountain sheltered city-stronghold did not falter. Most of the denizens moved a little slower with respect to sun sickness, all except the children that skittered around the adults in careless play and possible reckless endangerment.**

"**Addled simpletons."**

**A little boy with bright, intelligent amber eyes looked up, hand raised to shelter his gaze from the sun to properly leer at the older scowling boy he held hands with. "Who offended you now?"**

"**Running in this heat… It'll be the death of them and I can't say I'd be too upset."**

"**Malik!" The little boy scowled fiercely. "That's not right."**

"**If they were smarter, Kadar, I wouldn't call them 'addled' would I?" **

**Kadar rolled his eyes lavishly and dropped his arm to take back the sack he'd clasped in his already occupied hand. "You still don't have to be so mean…"**

**Malik heard the edge in Kadar's voice and sighed dramatically. "I'm an Assassin, not a saint, little brother." He glanced down and huffed when he realized his brother had stopped listening. "Don't ignore me, you pest! …Hey, Kadar, I'm talking to you! …Oh forget it." He knew how his brother could get when he wasn't happy and expected the boy to ignore him until supper. "Okay, I'll just talk to myself and praise Allah for the fact that the people won't think I've gone mad with the heat because of your presence."**

**Kadar just peered around Malik to see if there was anything interesting.**

"**And then, for taking such risks, I believe I'll eat your half of-"**

"**Brother, brother look!"**

**Malik was almost jerked clean off his feet by Kadar's enthusiastic tugs to his arm and the best he could do not to fall was to stumble awkwardly in the direction his little brother pulled. "Kadar, what in the…" His voice died in his throat and his breath with it when he found what had excited his brother into acknowledging his existence so soon.**

**A tattered, beaten excuse of a boy hid from the midday heat in the alleyway the siblings had happened past. Signs of recent abuse were spelled out on his skin and longer standing abuses –namely starvation– were punctuated by the way his sallow skin seemed to cling too tightly to his overexposed bones. The only thing that was lively about the boy were his eyes; harsh, sparking gray glared guardedly from the shadows and lips still bloody from God knew what twisted into a sneer.**

**Malik didn't quite know what to do when he locked eyes with the boy. He'd seen unfortunates before, but they had been adults and not common to Masyaf. To see an unfortunate, a mere child, in the stronghold's walls… He wrestled his hand away from Kadar's and motioned for him to stay back while he ventured forward.**

"**What are you looking at?" the boy snapped in a rough, weak growl.**

**Malik held his hands up and stopped at the mouth of the alley. Being so close, he could see how badly the boy was injured and it hit him unexpectedly hard because there couldn't have been more than a year between them. He knelt down and rested his arms over his thighs, unsure of what to say but driven to say _something_. "You startled me," he finally got out.**

"**Then put that monster of yours in a pen so that demons lurking in shady places don't startle you," the boy shot back harshly. "Go away."**

**Rather than be offended, Malik felt a rare flush of excitement at the words any other being would have found cruel. He was _always_ in trouble for being a staunch practitioner of revenge and hurling insults as though his tongue were a catapult, so it was exciting to him to find someone else that was just as, if not more caustic then he was. "You don't look well. You hungry?"**

**The mention of food sparked a feral light in the boy's eyes before it died into a distrustful glower. "You don't look much better off than me."**

**Malik twisted around to ask Kadar for one of the loaves of bread they had purchased in the market and realized when he heard a rustle of fabric that he'd made a mistake.**

**The boy launched from his hiding spot with a rusted, broken dagger held in his grimy hand, an animalistic cry on his lips as he tried to drag Malik down to fleece him at knife point. But, his plans were partially ruined when an elbow connected with his nose and his arm wrenched before he was slammed hard against a wall. He huffed and flew at Malik again, just to get banged into the other wall; the third attempt wound up with him straddling the downed boy, dagger at his throat, while Kadar had a dagger held to the back of the boy's neck.**

"**H-How did you do… that?" the boy demanded, breathless from just that short fight.**

**Malik smirked coolly and prodded the boy in the chest with his own dagger, pulled from under his sleeve. "You'd never believe me if I told you." He really looked too happy for being held at the edge of a blade and he glanced back to make sure that Kadar was unharmed.**

"**And I think that's why Master dissuades us from helping unfortunates," Kadar stated once he caught his brother's eyes. "Who's the addled one now?"**

**Malik shrugged and easily flipped the boy off him, moving to corner the urchin with Kadar to make sure he wouldn't dart off. "That was sort of fun. Thanks." He ordered a stunned Kadar to hand over a loaf of bread and smirked at the amazed boy as he sheathed his dagger. "Don't try that to the adults or you'll be dead within the day."**

"**How would you know?" the boy shot back between greedy mouthfuls of bread. **

"**We live here," Kadar replied in a "no duh" sort of tone. **

"**If you're not stupid enough to get yourself killed, maybe I'll see you around," Malik chided. "Come on, Kadar." He reined his little brother in, feeling surprisingly good for just having been the victim of an attempted theft.**

"**You're insane," Kadar grumbled.**

"**Maybe, but I enjoy it."**

**

* * *

**

**Three days later found Malik wandering through Masyaf with absolutely nothing to do. His ever-running mouth, violent temper, and incalculable pride had gotten him put on suspension for the week while Kadar –the _smart_ one– had gotten off with a reprimand and an order to return to his lessons. To some degree, Malik though his punishment was extreme, since he had merely defended himself from a slew of unfair accusations. _What does that bastard know about my mother?_ He huffed and cut across the streets to take the shortcut back home, his young mind wandering away from the fight and towards the lunch he carried with him.**

**Malik glanced down at the nice assortment he'd picked up and considered stopping for a moment to grab a bite to eat, but knew Kadar would give him hell for eating without him. Malik never cared what he got, as long as it was food, while Kadar had to make sure that every single meal was split exactly in half between them.**

"**You again?"**

**Malik stopped dead in his tracks and first looked down to find nothing capable of speaking to him. It was then that he looked up and found the same urchin staring down at him from a rooftop, looking as predatory as the stronghold's beloved eagles. "What on earth are you doing up there?" he asked in wonderment that the boy even had the strength to walk, let alone climb.**

"**What's it look like?" the boy shot back.**

"**Are you trying another approach to theft?"**

"**So what if I am?"**

**Malik rolled his eyes and tucked his lunch into the few small pouches he carried at his waist. He took a quick survey of the wall and took a running leap at it, fingers and toes immediately digging into niches to steady himself with. Once he was balanced, he scaled the seemingly flush wall with no trouble and a fair amount of grace for an eight-year-old. At the top, he hauled himself up and over to the tune of the boy's amazing swearing. "You're doing it all wrong."**

"**How would you know?" the boy demanded indignantly. "You don't look like you'd know how to steal from a blind man!"**

**Malik smirked and shrugged. "I was you once. I just got lucky, but that doesn't mean my skills have rusted… unlike this pathetic thing." He held up the dagger he had nipped from the boy when he'd pulled himself onto the rooftop with a smug smirk.**

**The boy was clearly shocked as he patted his ratted sash to find that Malik really had stolen his only weapon. "You little…" It sounded like he wanted to be angry, but was more amazed by the older boy's prowess. Though, amazement, irritation, and everything else flew in the face of hunger when he saw the items Malik pulled from his pouches.**

"**Hungry?" Malik offered even though he already knew the answer. When he received a ravenous nod, he split the three items –cheese, bread, and fruit– into equal proportions and handed the boy his half without complaint. "So, do you have a name?"**

**The boy eagerly set the cheese and fruit down on his dirt-caked robes and pulled the innards from the bread, inhaling them with frightening rapidity. "My parents never had a chance to give me a name, but some of the adults gave me the name ibn La-Ahad… I don't like it at all because they smirk when they say it. What about you?"**

"**Malik," he replied easily. "The little one with me the other day is Kadar."**

"**Brothers, I take it?"**

"**Of course."**

**The boy grunted and started to pull the cheese apart to drop it into the hull of bread, stopping every so often to throw in some fruit. "Why're you being so nice to me?" he finally asked to break the silence.**

**Malik looked down from his study of the midday sky to shrug at the other. "I don't know. There's something about you that I like… probably your sharp tongue." He grinned at the boy and told him about _why_ he wasn't in his lessons (which entailed him casually avoiding his occupation), somehow enjoying the amused smirk that turned the corner of the younger boy's lips up.**

**The afternoon came and went with them talking, finding more and more in common then street urchin backgrounds and lost parents. It was clear into the evening when Kadar came to hunt Malik down and he left reluctantly because he knew the nameless boy wouldn't come with him.**

**

* * *

**

**It was almost a full month before Malik had a chance to encounter the one the adults mockingly called the "Son of None" again. He'd seen the urchin in brief flashes across Masyaf, usually hidden away on the roofs to stare down on the people like a raptor. Kadar had jokingly said that the boy looked like an oversized, ratty eagle and that had inspired Malik to give the boy a name, something to refer to him by if only in his thoughts.**

**The night they met again, a storm threatened the horizon in brief, vicious flashes and Malik cursed the fact that he still had a ways to go to get home. His whole body thrummed from a day spent learning mounted battle techniques and he wasn't looking towards to being wet on top of being sore. He was so intent on his ceremonial path home that he missed the obstacle in the street and tripped right over it, landing hard on the ground with a huff of lost air. "What the…"**

**Malik looked back and gasped when he found the urchin sprawled out on the ground, seemingly unconscious and bloody. Panic gripped his chest unexpectedly as he righted himself and scrambled over to the younger boy, shaking his shoulder frantically. He was unaware that he was chanting the name he'd given the boy, simply focused on making sure he was alive. "Come on… Wake up, wake up, Altaϊr… Altaϊr, get up, open your eyes, do something!" He scrambled around the boy to lay him flat on his back, anger warming him as he surveyed the wounds that had been inflicted on the urchin, his mind going back to a conversation he'd heard between a couple of novices.**

"_**The little thief was asking for it! You should have seen him – he actually thought he had a chance against me! The look on his face when I laid him flat was priceless!"**_

"_**What did he try to steal?"**_

"_**Does it matter? He tried to steal and he paid the price for trying. Boy's just lucky he didn't succeed or he would be a meal for the dogs tonight."**_

**Somehow, Malik knew that one novice (one he never liked to begin with) had been talking about the boy laid out before him and his breath locked in his throat as anger overwhelmed him. _He didn't just beat a defenseless kid halfway to death, he broke the Creed… __Altaϊr__ might be homeless, but he's still an innocent that wouldn't stand a chance against me, nevermind a novice or master._ Thoughts of revenge bubbled up in his mind as it conjured up images of the brutality the novice had shown the boy, his hands fisted into his robes as he tried to breathe.**

**It wasn't until a hand brushed at his face that he realized he had started crying and he sniffled and wiped angrily at his face. But, any loathing he had towards himself for being so childish evaporated when he realized it was a bruised and bloody hand that had touched his face. He looked down and found gray eyes staring up at him dimly, but a small, mocking smile was on those scarred lips. "A-Altaϊr…"**

"**I thought… that's w-what you were calling me," the boy murmured.**

**Malik flushed bright red for having been caught. "I… I'm…"**

"**I like it."**

**Malik went even redder and decided to change the subject by gathering the boy into his arms with the intentions of getting him home where it was safe.**

"**What are you doing?!" the boy demanded, still fiery enough to fight.**

"**You're coming home with me," Malik replied with a note of finality in his voice that made even his adult superiors stop sometimes. "If you stay on the streets, you'll surely be dead in a few days time." He glared at the boy sidelong when he tried to protest and shook his head. "No, I won't hear it."**

**The boy sighed and finally, his seemingly endless pride appeared to evaporate in a puff of tired gratitude. "Thank you, Malik."**

**

* * *

**

Finally got Shaun into the Animus... about damned time!


	17. That Wasn't So Bad

"…welcome back."

First blessed words Shaun heard out of the Animus 2.0 and he wished to God he could actually hear them. Slipping between reality and genetic memory wasn't as psychologically taxing as he thought it would be, but the physical ramifications of going under made themselves known in a hurry. His senses were muddled; his skin felt too tight and hypersensitive, his hearing was almost nonexistent, like he had his head underwater, and he couldn't be sure if his eyes were opened or closed. He _felt_ better than he had in a long time, like he could run a marathon and still have energy to clear-cut a forest, but he couldn't get his body to move. Three tries and he actually started to panic, his mind telling him to move while his body revolted and refused to do so much as twitch.

"Chill… Shaun… Fight against… make it worse."

_Easy for you… Oh._ Shaun recognized the voice after a moment and sighed; Desmond was the only one he'd trust on the finer points of Animus quirks. It irked him that he couldn't hear properly and it frightened him to be paralyzed, but if Subject 17 said fighting would make it worse, well, he would just have to lay there, wouldn't he? _How on earth does he jump right out of this thing? I feel like the subject of a horror plot right now._ He focused on breathing when the panic became a little too prevalent, ignoring the senses were over amped and trying to prod the ones that seemed to have forgotten how to work. _Just go with it, don't fight._

Eventually, the hypersensitivity faded and with it, Shaun found use of his body restored. He didn't move immediately, aware that his ears being off could mean that his balance was as well. Not one to add insult to injury, he decided not to risk getting dizzy on top of everything else and waited patiently for his ears to come back to center.

"Hey, you fall asleep on us, dude?"

"Hardly," Shaun croaked and he cracked his eyes open, relieved to find the same blurriness he was faced with in the morning. "Glasses, if someone doesn't mind?" He felt the familiar weight of the heavy black frames press into his hand and he wasted no time in putting his glasses on, taking careful stock of the bizarre lag he felt in his movements. _Like one of Rebecca's video games. Say left and you go left two seconds later._ His musings were cut short by a very relieved Desmond hovering over him. "Some room please, Miles?" he inquired dryly.

Desmond sat on the edge of Rebecca's desk, arms crossed with a worried shadow across his face. "You okay or you still have that lag going on?"

"How…" Shaun dead-ended himself with a pointed reminder that Desmond, for once, had done something before him. "It's still there. What in the hell was that when I came out?"

"Synaptic re-uplink," Rebecca replied as she leaned around Desmond. "The human brain is only wired to run one body, so when you try to tell it to run two, it tends to put the unused party into an inactive status. When you return to reality, your brain switches gears from the memory world to real time and it pretty literally has to reboot your systems."

Desmond grinned at the flat, unimpressed look on Shaun's face. "Well, you have to figure, humans are just organic machines."

Shaun rolled his eyes lavishly, like he'd wanted to when he came to. "So, the muddled senses are totally normal?"

"For the first few sessions, yes," Lucy replied from where she was plugging away at her computer at the speed of sound. "After you become accustomed to switching from your body in reality to Malik's in memory, it won't happen again. The lag should stop just the same."

Shaun looked to Desmond for confirmation and felt assured when he nodded with a disgusted face. "Did you ever feel like you could figure out complex physics equations when you first come out, but you can't move your fingers?"

"Yeah, you'll get used to that one 'cause it'll never go away," Desmond replied sourly. "It's from the Bleeding Effect. Your brain's trying to compile everything it learned into a skill set and, since you didn't cover much, you'll just feel like you did a bump instead. Once you start getting into the denser memories, you'll come out feeling like a combat genius."

"Oh, happy days." Shaun threw his legs over the edge of the Animus 2.0 and felt relief when he moved in what he termed "real time". "So, why the break? It didn't feel like we covered that much ground."

"Lunch time," Rebecca stated and she illustrated the lunch dropped off by Zack with a pointed finger. "Eat if you're hungry and we'll get back to it in an hour." Before she put her headphones back on she added, "I would get up and take a walk too."

Shaun had just about decried Rebecca's suggestion when he tried to get up. His whole body was stiff and he felt faintly electrocuted; jittery limbs and weak knees made the simple task of standing a challenge. "This is going to be a long couple of sessions."

"You're doing better than I did," Desmond laughed. "I was comatose the first time around!"

"You were pushed too hard, too fast," Lucy stated in scathing tones. "That is precisely why Shaun is out after three hours."

Shaun arched a brow at Desmond and the novice just shrugged and motioned towards the door. He didn't want to make any undue assumptions and merely hobbled out after Subject 17, amazed at how much worse his still-healing leg felt. _Come to think of it, _all_ of me feels worse than it did this morning,_ he noted once he had a few moments of mobility to reflect over.

"You'll stop feeling like a sack of meat in a while," Desmond noted over his shoulder as he shoved the door open.

"Oh, joy." Shaun rolled his eyes and limped after Desmond, unbothered to care about where the younger man was heading. "So, what did you do the whole time?"

Desmond held up his iPod. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, so I just sat there and waited for one of the girls to give the sign that they were bringing you out."

The fact gave Shaun pause and he stared at Desmond's back in surprise. "You… really sat there the whole time?"

"Well, I moved to get a soda around ten, but that was about it." Desmond craned his neck to smile at Shaun. "I said that I'd be there when you woke up, didn't I?" He headed straight down the hallway and split right at a fork in the corridors to a door that was marked as an exit.

"You didn't have to sit there the whole time," Shaun retorted once he got his mouth working again. He knew Desmond wouldn't stray too far, but to think that he'd sat in one place the whole time and waited… Something about the simple action pulled at Shaun's heart and dredged up a smile and a faint pang of guilt. He followed Desmond outside and gingerly eased himself down when the novice flopped down on the ground by the building. "Next round, at least watch over Rebecca's shoulder."

"She offered," Desmond laughed, "but, like I said, I've seen it all before."

Shaun reached over and pulled Desmond to him by the shoulders, ruffling his hair with an affectionate smile. "So, has Lucy said anything about last night?"

"Nope." Desmond easily settled into Shaun, twisting so that he was more using the man for a pillow, arms entwined with the arm slung across his chest. "And I don't expect her to for a while. But, it's not that important, so I don't care. What I do care about is the fact that I'm being put up for the Trials and I'm not even sure if I'm up to snuff."

Shaun scoffed, "You're more than ready."

"Yeah, but if I decided to train, you wouldn't mind?"

"Why would I?"

"…I might not be there when you come back."

Shaun sighed and looked down at Desmond. "I'm not a little boy, Eagle. I think I can take care of myself."

Desmond's lips quirked up into a smirk and he patted Shaun's hand. "I'll take that as a 'yes' then'." He laughed when Shaun swatted his ribs and stretched out languidly, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun and the open air while he could. "So, wha'cha think so far? Better or worse than you expected?"

"It's not as traumatic as I thought it'd be," Shaun replied. "To be honest, I have no idea what all the fuss was over with you. There is no lag between switching control of mine and Malik's bodies; one feels just as natural as the other."

"That would be because you already have perfect synch," Desmond stated dryly. "I started with nothing when Abstergo brought me in, but by the end of my run with Altaϊr, I had a flawless synch. You just happened to get lucky and skip the snarky parts." He held a hand up. "But, me and Becca were talking and you know there's a chance that the Bleeding Effect is going to be worse for you."

Shaun's blood froze in his veins. "What?" He had seen the Bleeding Effect's toll on Desmond and, while it wasn't as bad as it could be, it was still frightening to behold sometimes. "How much worse?"

"Bad," Desmond admitted without pulling his punches, aware that Shaun wouldn't appreciate being coddled. "Like, psych ward bad." He glanced back at Shaun and flinched when he saw how pale the older novice had gone. "_But_, you could take very well to the sessions and the Bleeding Effect could do no more than work in your favor," he rushed to add. "We'll know by the end of tomorrow which one it's going to be."

"That fast?" Shaun demanded.

"Yeah. The girls are going to give you the rest of today to get acquainted with the ins and outs of going under and tomorrow you're going all in." Desmond patted Shaun's hand reassuringly. "The good news is that, because you have perfect sync, Lucy wants to skip right back to the siege at Masyaf. That means no Solomon's Temple for you!"

A _normal_ person would have been ecstatic that they could skip over a completely traumatic event, but Shaun had never fancied himself normal. It was true that he was anxious over reliving his _and_ Malik's memories from parallel events, but that didn't mean he was happy to find out he was skipping them. "That's fantastic, but how is that going to help me later?"

"Huh?" Desmond looked completely off put by Shaun's question.

Shaun held his left arm up with a flat expression. "Malik lacked one of these, remember? How will it help me learn how to fight if I skip _everything_ of use?"

"Ah…" Desmond's grin returned, since he actually had an answer for that question. "Lucy thinks that, because of your genetic openness –for better lack of a word– any skips in time we make won't affect you the same way they would me. If they skipped anything, I'd be no smarter or no stupider when I came out. But you, Lucy thinks that you would merely acquire the skill sets picked up by any given ancestor from the last memory you relived to the next."

Shaun sighed deeply and shook his head. "And if not?"

"We slow down and do it the old-fashioned way."

"Reckless," Shaun grumbled, "completely reckless."

Desmond checked his iPod for the time and groaned when he saw one o'clock was creeping up on them fast. "We may be, but we're not exactly on a forgiving deadline, are we?"

"No," Shaun begrudgingly admitted. "Time?"

"One thirty. Let's get back in and eat so we can wrap this up for the day." Desmond wormed out of Shaun's loose embrace and hopped to his feet with grace he hadn't possessed a couple of years ago, holding his hand out to help the older man up. "Don't worry. Lucy's being a bitch, but she's not going to gamble your safety and the safety of the world on her grudges against me."

Shaun couldn't argue the point and didn't because there was no point in doing so. _My job is to get into the Animus and retrieve the memories for Lucy and Rebecca to pour over. I have no say in when I go in or when I come out; I'm just the medium._ And with that thought, the historian finally realized why Desmond had been so frustrated on those off days and when he'd first come from Abstergo. _There's no control and, ultimately, we're just pawns that can be disposed of._

It wasn't a comforting thought to take back to the Animus 2.0, but Shaun could definitely appreciate Desmond's plight much more now.

* * *

"Hello boys!"

Desmond brought himself and Shaun up short when he counted eight or so more people in the Animus room then were there when they left. "Um… Are you guys that bored?"

Ehren nodded and pointed his carton of chow mien at the Animus 2.0. "We thought we'd see if there's anything we can do to help."

"But no one wants us near the equipment," Fang-Yi sulked.

"With just cause," Rebecca shot back. "None of you know how to use it!"

Shaun smirked and rounded Desmond to grab a tin of General Tso's chicken, a handful of crabmeat ragoon, and an eggroll. With no place to really sit, he made himself comfortable on the edge of the Animus 2.0 by Savaş. "None of you are cut out for country living if you're bored and it's not even been a day."

"That's what I said," Zack stated around a mouthful of food. "They're going to be batty by the end of the week."

Desmond searched over the food (which had multiplied in the half hour he and Shaun had been gone) to pick out his favorites from what was available. "It's no more exciting in here, you know."

"Better than sitting around," Rainer shot back. "At least we have people to bother here."

Desmond laughed and sat on the edge of Rebecca's desk when she patted it invitingly. "If that's your intention, then I'm putting us all to work." He prodded at a boneless spare rib before stabbing it and drowning it in duck sauce. "Would anyone be abject to helping me start to riddle out the crap Ezio's last sequence dumped on us?"

Silence.

"I hear crickets," Shaun chided.

"It has to be done," Desmond implored. "And I trust that all of you are intelligent enough to give proper feedback…" He glanced around and sighed when Zack, Shauna, and Seiya looked tempted to volunteer. "Come on! Do you all _want_ to die in a blaze of fiery glory?"

"No, but we don't want to focus on it either!" Josh shot back evenly.

Shauna sighed and quietly stated, "Lucy told me and Zack all about what you guys found out and I would like to help. I mean… I might not be much help, but I can try."

"Okay, you're volunteered," Desmond replied, not oblivious to the shy smile and faint flush on Shauna's halfway hidden face. "Zack? You in?"

"What the fuck? Why not."

"Fang?"

"I suppose."

Desmond nodded and drowned another rib with near-brutal force, if only for the fun of torturing his food.

"You know that any work you do may be negated if we find the answer through Shaun," Lucy pointed out in the same chilly tones as before.

"Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to try and it gives some of us something to do," Desmond replied with professional curtness. He had no idea _why_ he had ruffled Lucy's feathers so badly with his suggestion of insiders, but he wasn't about to apologize to the woman when he'd been physically assaulted for his opinion.

Rebecca finished off her lunch and leaned back to stretch the kinks out of her joints. "It sounds like a good idea to me. Are you gonna need the last sequences?"

Desmond shook his head. "Nah, I've got what we need in my head and, besides, I think we're going to be doing simple research work for right now." He performed another interrogation-style dunking of an eggroll and chewed thoughtfully. "But, I think I'd like the footage from Subject Sixteen's hacks. Not the video, but the glyphs that he placed in the system."

"Why's that?" Rebecca asked.

"Just a feeling I have," Desmond replied.

Shaun turned to the master-class Assassin with a sage, "Just turn the video over. If he's got an instinct, he'll be insufferable if he can't follow it."

"Hey!" Desmond flicked a bit of fried rice at Shaun. "I'm trying to help! HEY!" He wiped his face where Shaun hit him between the eyes with a piece of chicken, licking the spicy/sweet sauce off of his fingers. "Asshole."

"Limey git."

"Okay, don't start," Lucy warned. "Finish up so we can get back to work. Zack, Shauna, if you're going to be helping, you'd better be sure Dad doesn't need help first. I'm _not_ going to having him come after me because you two are slacking off."

"Yes, Lucy," Zack and Shauna grumbled in time.

Ehren looked over at Rainer with an amused, "They do that almost as well as we do!"

Desmond smiled and rushed to finish the rest of his lunch, motivated now that he had something productive to do. After so long of being in the Animus, it was strange and irritating to be left with full days' worth of free time and, even if it was to no avail, he wanted to do _something_ before he went crazy.

The lunch hour came and went as planned, everyone finished by one and ready to get back to work. The twins, Savaş, Josh, and Seiya all hung around for lack of anything better to do while Desmond's team took to the computers across the room to set up. That left Rebecca and Lucy to get ready for another Animus session while Shaun laid in the machine to wait.

Ten minutes after the deadline, Lucy announced that they were good to go and Desmond turned to flash Shaun a smile and a reassuring, "I'll still be here when you come back."

* * *

Black to white matrix; Shaun was going to get sick of that fast. He'd learned from Desmond that running around didn't do much and he stood there with his arms crossed in the guise of Malik, waiting for the memory sequence to load.

Instead, he got a chirpy, "This is just more introductory work," from Rebecca through the audio system.

Shaun rolled his eyes and huffed. "Oh, the stress, the strain. I think you're trying to kill me." He still found it strange that, in the matrix and in the guise of his ancestor, his British accent was replaced with a Middle Eastern accent, but he knew he'd get over it. "Just load the memory already!"

"Puuuuushy," Rebecca sing-songed. "Okay, one memory, coming right up!"

Shaun felt that inextricable tug in the back of his mind and willingly fell into it to see if it would make the transition any easier than it already was.

* * *

"**KADAR!"**

**Malik was roused by the sounds of shouting, namely his little brother's squeal for help and the thundering of feet around a familiar race track. He laid there and counted; when he hit one, his door banged open and a flash of white and gray darted in. He slammed the door after him and made tracks to hide under the covers. After another five count, the door banged open again and a very wet, very angry novice Assassin stood in the doorway, gray eyes flashing dangerously as he searched for his target. As always, Malik just feigned sleep, one eye open a crack to watch as Altaϊr stalked about the room in search of Kadar.**

**Such chaos was normal after ten years. The unfortunate Malik had dragged home with him that night had never left –quite the opposite, he became another member of the household. The name Malik had given him had stuck and what had been two brothers grew to three as Altaϊr managed to worm his way into Malik and Kadar's hearts. He was a prideful, sharp-tongue pistol with a keen intelligence and knack for learning, traits that had inspired Malik to speak to his Master a bare year after he'd first met Altaϊr.**

**Altaϊr had been a little leery at first to learn that the seemingly harmless brothers were Assassins, but his caution had been thrown gleefully to the wind when Malik announced that the stronghold's Master had expressed an interest in him. Altaϊr's history was kept close to the cuff, but Malik knew he'd lost his parents to the Templars and had expected to jump at the opportunity to seek vengeance. From the moment Altaϊr had entered the Brotherhood, he took off running and Malik could say he was proud to watch the eagle take flight far faster than his peers. When Altaϊr had come home one day when he was ten and announced that Al Mualim wanted to take him under his wing, Malik couldn't have been any more proud and Kadar still ribbed him for his initial reaction to the news.**

**Now, at novices at eighteen and seventeen, Malik and Altaϊr had forged an iron-clad bond and a rather peculiar rivalry borne from their constant neck-and-neck performances. Kadar, still mildly naïve at fifteen, was the prevailing voice of reason when his older brothers started fighting, always helping to reign their tempers in and cool their heads. But, he was still young and he couldn't _always_ behave himself; his favorite form of mischief was various, early morning pranks all focused on Altaϊr.**

**That morning, it seemed as if Kadar had perfected the water bucket over the door prank he'd been working on for weeks. Malik did have to say the results were funny and he made a note to inform that Kadar that dye in the water would be much funnier when he got the chance.**

"**Malik, I know you're awake because you're smirking. Where is Kadar?"**

**Malik laughed and sat up, bending his legs to hide Kadar's presence under his blanket. "I just woke up thanks to you hellions. How should I know?"**

"**You always know," Altaϊr returned flatly.**

"**What am I, my brother's keeper now?"**

"…**So you killed him?"**

**Malik's expression went flat at Altaϊr's twist on his words and crossed his arms. "It's not a wise idea to sound so happy. Go dry off and get ready." He shifted when Kadar did to keep him hidden and eyed Altaϊr warily when the younger novice just leered at him. "What is that look for?"**

**Kadar wasn't the only imp; Altaϊr had a mischievous streak in him a mild wide and it made itself known at the oddest and most inconvenient times. Like right then, when Malik was trying to keep his brother's head attached to his shoulders and Altaϊr decided to share his misery.**

"**Altaϊr!" Malik screeched indignantly when Altaϊr tackled him, soaking every available stitch of fabric as he hugged Malik tightly. "Let me go, you plague!" He wriggled back when Altaϊr gave him that _look_ and kept moving until he was trapped between a determined novice and the wall. "Don't you dare… Altaϊr, I'm warning you, let me go! Alt-"**

**Altaϊr promptly silenced Malik's protests with a sound, open-mouthed kiss that he doubted the older novice would protest. Skilled hands calloused from years of swordplay darted under thin robes as he played Malik like a well-known instrument, lips moving to a spot by Malik's right collarbone that always sent him insane. When he felt a hand wrap around the back of his head, he smirked victoriously and he moved his hands downward, a finger running against the hem of his pants.**

"**Altaϊr, last… warning," Malik panted. He tried to give one more warning and it was cut off by a choked moan when Altaϊr's hand slipped a little lower.**

"**Okay, that's it!"**

**Altaϊr laughed victoriously, Malik gaped for having been exploited, and Kadar darted out of the room faster than a bolt of lightning.**

"**That was dirty," Malik growled.**

**Altaϊr shrugged, kissed Malik quickly, and took off after Kadar in a flurry of death threats.**

**

* * *

**

**A whisper of shoes against the sand to his left and the subtle sing of steel through the stagnant air.**

**He wove left and ducked low, the dagger in his hand darting up to take a stab at where he thought another body was. When he heard a smug chuckle, he knew he'd fallen for the feint and missed. Undeterred, he slid back to his starting stance, fingers deftly twisting the dagger into a backhanded grasp that would ensure maximum power if he did deal a blow. He heard soft footsteps against the ground and tracked them accordingly, unmoving until the last second – he struck backwards with his dagger and smiled when he heard the shriek of shredded cloth.**

"**Would you watch where you're aiming?!" **

**Novice mistake. He followed the telling trill of indignation, pivoting on the ball of his foot, lashing his dagger out again. Steel screamed against steel as his blow was deflected and he heard a heavier movement of the right foot. Already aware of what was coming, he raised his braced arm to catch the leg that tried to come at his head and shoved it back. The footsteps faltered and he pushed his hard-won advantage, fingers of his left hand spreading out to pull the catch of the blade hidden in his bracer. One-two feint; his dagger lunged forward and back, the defending sword catching the first blow and missing the next. A hiss followed the line he drew in steel across flesh, but the scuffle of feet warned him back and he barely caught the blade that flew at his arm.**

**When the blade sung across the convex arch of his stomach and cleared the area, he danced back to make room and collect himself. He could hear heavy breathing more pointedly in the desert hush and knew he was close to winning. Cautious not to be arrogant and believe victory to be in his reach, he waited for the next slide of footsteps and caught the blade with his dagger, the small blade screeching as it slid up its larger brethren to catch at the hilt.**

"**Not half bad… for a bookworm."**

**The words would have infuriated him on any other day, but he was too focused on the fight to care about insults. He had the right location, angle, and the defending blade was now locked with his dagger. He brought his hidden blade up and around in a wide arch, straight for an unguarded neck and waited for the point to hit the light resistance of flesh. But, balance suddenly eluded him when the weight he had subconsciously leaned into disappeared and he stumbled forward. His knees, already abused from earlier falls, sang when he hit the gritty ground and the breath escaped his lungs in a sharp wheeze. Before he could think to recover, a sharp-knuckled fist cut across his face and spun him, the precious air he had recovered rushing from his chest again when a heavy weight settled over him. In the same second, the cold lick of a blade crossed the same cheek that would surely bruise, slicing through skin and a sweat-soaked blindfold.**

**Malik blinked and tried to bring his hand up to shade his eyes from the sun, but something sharp interjected. Still partially unable to see after being blindfolded for so long, he titled his head and found a sword glinting dangerously at him. His lips pulled into a scowl and he ducked his hand under the sword to touch his face; his fingers came away wet with blood. He rolled his eyes and looked back up to find Altaϊr sitting on him, rested easily against the hilt of his long sword. **

"**I think Altaϊr won again," Kadar announced dryly from where he was sitting on a nearby boulder. "Unless I'm misreading something here…"**

**Altaϊr titled his head to smirk back at the initiate. "You've miserably misread something," he stated even as Malik's hidden blade jabbed at the front of his hip, where a piercing strike would have him dead in minutes. "It's a draw." He looked back down at the older novice to find him smirking and rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look or I'll give you brother something to heckle you over."**

"**I have no idea what you're talking about."**

"**Your _other_ hidden blade digging into my thigh, that's what I'm talking about."**

**Kadar whined when Malik screeched something about Altaϊr being a filthy liar letch before they went at it again.**

**

* * *

**Sorry, everyone! I got hit with a horrific case of writer's block on this story! *curls under the Rock of Shame* I sort of forged through on this chapter, so forgive me if it seems choppier than usual or just not up to snuff. T__T

Evil, evil writer's block... But I think it's gone now, so hopefully updates will come in faster succession!


	18. Links in the Chain

After realizing that the desk wouldn't be sufficient working space for the whole team, Desmond had taken to his favorite place to work: The floor. He set up a laptop Rebecca had graciously lent him (already loaded with any information he could need) on a stack of books and had left long enough to heist a handful of notebooks, loose leaf paper, and pens. The last thing he did was grab a set of extra speakers Rebecca had grabbed on the way out of New York (which he wouldn't ask about) to set his iPod up, needing music to work coherently.

"Enough crap?" Zack inquired wryly.

"Necessary to stimulate my dubious genius," Desmond shot back with a wide grin. "Okay, to arms!" He jumped up from his work station to stand in front of the white board Lucy had asked for, brandishing a dry-erase marker like a sword.

Fang-Yi, Zack, and Shauna watched in quiet curiosity as Desmond started to draw a series of letters, numbers, and lines on the board, segmenting each one to separate one from the other. They were amused at the way he would fly across some drawings and stall on others and no one in the room could say they weren't impressed with the man's memory retention or art skills.

"There!" Desmond drew a flourished line across the last of the series and stood back with a grand, "Figure this shit out!"

"What the hell is it?" Josh asked from the other side of the room.

Desmond could have been a prick and ignored those who had initially refused to help. But, he knew they would inevitably pitch in and decided not to burn bridges so soon. "After my first run in the Animus, I found these all over the Abstergo labs. They were some sort of insane set of clues left behind by Subject Sixteen."

"And they are?" Shauna prompted.

"Michael was Desmond's predecessor," Lucy stated. "Him and Desmond had common ancestry."

"Diluted and vague," Desmond added, "but the point remains that he knew something that he wanted me to know. I don't know if it's from our common link to Ezio or something else and I don't think that really matters so long as we can figure out _what_ in the hell these all mean."

"Are these the glyphs you were talking about earlier?" Zack asked.

"Sort of," Desmond replied. "There was a whole other set that I found in my second run in the Animus, but they're relatively similar." He crossed his arms and twisted to look back at the board. "So, anyone have any ideas?"

"Well, the bird and the spider are drawings in the Nazca Lines," Fang-Yi stated. "You know, them freaky things that no one can explain?"

"Yeah! I saw a documentary on those once!" Josh piped up again.

Desmond nodded and put the name next to the geometrical drawings up a spider and a bird in flight. "Keep going."

"The eye with the two lines coming off it is the Eye of Horus," Savaş pointed out.

Rainer clapped his hands together when he recognized one of the stranger drawings from his physics class. "That's a Lorenz Attractor! It's from the Chaos Theory."

Ehren grinned and waved his hand around. "And the other funky eye thing is The Eye of Providence!"

Desmond was surprised, but far from complaint as he wrote the names next to the right glyphs. The one drawing of a pyramid with a vaguely apple-shaped figure over it he knew no one would get and labeled it "The Pyramid of Eden" because he'd seen it before. "Anything else?"

"The three circles are a Trefoil," Shauna replied. "And that one drawing is Maccu Piccu. …Oh, and the one is obviously a pentagram!"

"And that weird one is the Mandelbrot Set," Seiya threw in for good measure. "The rest should be devastatingly obvious." He blinked when everyone glared at him nastily. "What?"

"So you know what that whole scramble of letters means?" Fang-Yi inquired dryly.

Seiya nodded with a superior, "I used to play word games like that with my brother when I was a child. The pyramid reads, 'They drained my soul and made it theirs. I drain my body to show you where I found it'. The square reads, 'Artefacts sent to the skies to control the nations. To make us obey. Do not help them'."

"Smart ass," Desmond grumbled under his breath as he finished writing in the next and stood back. "Er, that took less time than I thought it would… Oh!" He identified one of the random drawings as a Central American step pyramid and stood back again to observe the board. "So, anyone want to take a guess at what this all means?"

It was a good thing that Desmond wasn't expecting a response.

* * *

**The hallway twisted in fantastic and stomach-churning ways and the best Malik could do was drag himself along with help from the wall. He had his left arm thrown over Altaϊr's shoulders to brace the equally disoriented man, appreciative of the hand that clasped over his own. It was a grounder to reality and, though he could have snapped for Altaϊr's palm brushing his hand, he didn't because they were both in enough pain without adding an argument to the mix.**

"**S-Stop," Altaϊr demanded suddenly between clenched teeth.**

**Malik refused to stop and pushed the last few feet to his and Kadar's quarters, sweat collecting against the nape of his neck as he kicked the door open and fumbled inside.**

"**Brothers… What happened?!" Kadar's excitement quickly bled to frantic worry when Altaϊr and Malik collapsed on the latter's bed with identical groans of pain. "Malik, Altaϊr, what happened?"**

**Malik held his right hand up in a sign for Kadar to wait a moment, his left hand curled into his chest in some vain attempt to stop it from throbbing. When his stomach stopped revolting and his heartbeat stopped banging in his ears, he rasped out, "The mission was a success." He heard his little brother gasp and used his foot to stop the overzealous teen from tackling him. "But we paid our price for it."**

"**The injuries will heal," Altaϊr murmured, his voice faint and frightening in its weakness. "We have what we wanted."**

"**I-Is there anything I can do?" Kadar asked hesitantly.**

"**No, we already saw the healer," Malik replied. "We'll be fine, little brother." He offered Kadar a slight smile before he closed his eyes against a new wave of pain.**

**The last week hadn't been a pleasant one and he was still angry that the end of the biggest mission of their young lives had ended in _their_ blood joining their targets' blood on the ground. It should have been a simple matter to dispose of the men and bring back the items Al Mualim wanted, but even Malik had to admit that him and Altaϊr had been sent with little information and even less in the way of supplies. The injuries were no fault of their own and they would eventually fade into scars that bore no more than memories. **

**They had succeeded, however wounded, in assassinating their Master's marks and retrieved the treasures. In return, at ages twenty-one and twenty-two, Altaϊr and Malik had finally reached the coveted master-class rank and had the snow-white robes as proof of their accomplishments. The other proof was hidden under the thick bandages wrapped around their left hands, shielding freshly shorn ring fingers from harm and infection until they healed.**

"**We will have to celebrate," Altaϊr murmured after a long span of silence.**

**Malik groaned and curled into himself, every inch of his body throbbing and screaming from the tiniest of movements. "I don't want to do so much as breathe right now. Let's speak of celebration once I feel like moving again." He knew he should have moved to a more comfortable position, but he couldn't be bothered to. A week of constant fighting and sleeplessness had totaled his mind and his body wasn't far behind. He was content to sleep in an awkward position as long as he could sleep and the last thought through his mind before he dropped off was, _When I awaken, it will be as a master Assassin… finally._**

**_

* * *

_**

When it had become apparent that the group's genius had dried up, Desmond had taken to the computer to do some light research. Now that he had the names of Subject 16's drawings, he was certain that there was a significant clue in their meaning. "Thank God for Wikipedia," was all he had to say.

"Can you trust the information you find?" Rebecca inquired. "I mean… Abstergo's kept information very tightly controlled."

"I'm not half the hotshot Shaun is, but I know fact from fiction," Desmond replied distractedly. He had taken the laptop to stand at the white board and write down the gist of the information he found for each fact in the hope that it would spark some sort of "Ah-hah!" from someone. "But, I've got to admit, it would be useful to have him in the real world right now."

"Why?"

"Because his Sight identifies targets and target text."

"Oh, cool!" Rebecca leaned her cheek against her fist and sized up Desmond's expanding collection of notes with an approving nod. "You're not doing half bad yourself… Ah! Des!" She jumped up when something struck her and she grabbed a marker to draw a duplicate of The Eye of Providence with some familiar embellishments. "That's the All-Seeing Eye!"

"And?" Savaş prompted.

"It's said to be the crest of the Illuminati," Rebecca replied. "You know, the group conspiracy nuts think will be responsible for the New World Order? They were connected to Kabbilists, Freemasons, and our least favorite historical bullies, the Knights Templar!"

Desmond turned to Rebecca with wide eyes. "The Illuminati… are connected to the Knights Templar?"

"Right wing Christians said that the Knights Templar _were_ the Illuminati. But, the Freemasons were also said to be the Illuminati as well, which is why you can't trust conspiracy nuts." Rebecca still looked happy with herself and she looked geared to keep talking.

Desmond just set the laptop down and motioned for her to continue.

Rebecca was exceptionally pleased to be let in on the study session and happily shared what she knew. "This is all theory, so don't take it too seriously. That said, follow this line of thinking." She pointed at the Temple of Eden. "This temple, which we saw in Sixteen's video, looks an awful lot like the All-Seeing Eye temple. She grabbed a red marker and circled the top of the All-Seeing Eye and the Apple. "The Apple sees all, the Eye sees all; the first Assassins originated from Eden, the Illuminati were said to be Knights Templar…"

"A parallel?" Shauna hazarded to guess.

"Exactly!" Rebecca beamed. "Thousands of years apart, but The Ones Who Came Before had their omnipotent eye and the Templars created theirs in the All-Seeing Eye. Wanna know something even cooler, if not off track a bit?"

"What's a story without a non-sequitor?" Seiya chuckled.

Rebecca grinned and turned to face the group. "Anyone ever hear of the Priory of Sion?"

"Debunked and bust," Rainer replied.

Rebecca tsk-ed and shook her head. "Then just listen, naysayer! The Priory of Sion was said to work in cooperation with the Knights Templars through the Crusades and they protected a secret of some sort. The secret's not important, but the fact that they _assassinated_ the Templars is."

Desmond knew Rebecca well enough to know what she was hinting towards. "You think that the Priory was a subversive group of Assassins?"

Rebecca nodded excitedly. "It's said that the Priory kept the Templars in their ranks and silently controlled their movements. When the Crusades ended, Templars within reach were put to death, supposedly to keep the secret that the Priory protected." She smiled and pointed at Desmond. "Your ancestor," she pointed back at Shaun, "and his were just sneaky enough to do something like that."

"But how can it be proven?" Seiya asked. "There is no information on the Priory and information on the Illuminati is colored with conspiracy and conjecture."

Rebecca shrugged and sat back down at her computer. "I'm just throwing ideas out, since we sort of have none at the moment. I just find it funny that no one knows when the Priory supposedly contracted the Templars, they had a secret to keep, and they eighty-sixed whoever they could when the Crusade was over. In my happy little world of bizarre coincidences, I think the Priory was an elaborate scheme Altaϊr and Malik created, the Apple was their secret, and they used that to lure in as many baddies as they could to thin out enemy ranks. I also think it just a bit weird that the Illuminati were labeled some form of megalomaniacs in direct connection to the Templars. I think they just jumped names through history to stay hidden."

"But then there's problems later in history," Zack shot back. "The only surviving group are the Freemasons and they are _clearly_ not Templars if we're always dealing with Abstergo and not them."

"That's assuming that Abstergo is the only Templar movement," Rebecca shot back, ever indomitable once she was on roll. "The Illuminati are an old group, possibly the first enemy movement. What if they were the first rivals of The Ones That Came Before?"

"Okay genius," Zack retorted, "then what about the Priory? A lot of well-known people were said to be Grand Masters, one of which was Leonardo da Vinci. You _really_ want me to believe that a pacificist painter and inventor was in on the Assassin's game?"

"Um… _duh_!"

Even Desmond had to agree with Rebecca there. "We can't say for sure because of where we stopped in Ezio's memories, but Leonardo was _very_ involved in Assassin plots, at least where Ezio was concerned."

Rebecca turned back to her computer with a light salute. "And that's my gem of wisdom for the day. Maybe later on we'll get the answer outta Shaun's noodle."

"…How?" Rainer dared to ask.

Desmond went pale when Rebecca gave the group her best psychopath smile, the one he could read and interpret in his sleep. "You are kidding me?"

"Nope!"

Desmond slapped his head and flopped down on the floor. "This just keeps getting better and better."

* * *

"…**Brother?"**

**Malik looked up from his long sword, scowl fierce and eyes hard until he saw the way Kadar flinched back from him. "What is it, little brother?"**

**Kadar hesitated, dark eyes darting between Malik and his weapon uncertainly. "I just… I mean… Is everything alright, Malik? This makes a month that I've returned from my studies to find you here." **

**Malik snorted and went back to sharpening his sword. "There is nothing wrong. How did your studies go today?"**

"**Well," Kadar replied and he was clearly thinking of a way to redirect his brother's segue. "And your mission?" He already knew the answer, written in fresh blood soaked into bandages wrapped around Malik's thigh. "I mean… did you find your mark?"**

"**Of course," Malik answered neutrally as he switched out the honing stone for a soft cloth to polish the well-worn metal. "The Master was not happy that I returned injured from such an easy mission, but he should still be coaching Altaϊr in the finer points of stealth."**

"**You and Altaϊr are fighting again?" Kadar asked.**

**Malik knew he'd accidentally given his brother the redirect he'd wanted and sighed. "Why are you so concerned about what goes on between myself and Altaϊr?"**

"**Because all you two do anymore is fight!" Kadar shot back. "It started a few weeks after you both made the master rank. You're… I know you both rival against each other, but it's beginning to scare me!"**

**Malik did indeed hear the uneasy edge in Kadar's voice and set his sword aside to motion for his brother to sit. "We are not fighting, per se, little brother. Altaϊr just…" He searched for the right words. "He has become so glutted on his own success that it's disgusting. We both know that he'd prideful, but it's reaching whole new heights and his arrogance is enough to choke a man from across the room. I can't take it anymore."**

"**So, you're just ignoring him?" Kadar sounded oddly hurt by the notion.**

"**I haven't seen you around him much either," Malik retorted.**

**Kadar flinched. "He's busy."**

"**He shuttles everyone aside because they hinder him," Malik growled in a paraphrase of words Altaϊr had recently thrown at him. "Because he is the Master's favorite and his former apprentice, Altaϊr believes he can do no wrong." He looked up with a dark gleam in his eyes. "He had broken every tenant we hold dear and went so far as to break tenants of the Creed with this mission."**

**Kadar's eyes widened and he stuttered out a stunned, "W-What?"**

"**An innocent lost their life simply because she'd found out that we were Assassins," Malik stated in malicious tones. He set his sword to the side and titled his head back against the wall, sighing deeply. He wouldn't tell Kadar that the wound Al Mualim had chastised him for had been wrought by Altaϊr's blade and reserved himself to say it was an archer if anyone asked. He was angry with Altaϊr, but not to the point of damning him for injuring a brother. _He acted, as did I. A slight wound to my leg is nothing compared to the life of an innocent._**

"**Brother?"**

"**I do not know what madness had seized Altaϊr," Malik murmured, "but it will either break and he will return to his senses or it will get someone killed." He rubbed at his leg ruefully when it flared up; it wasn't his brightest idea to put himself between a master's blade and a targeted body, but he couldn't let another innocent die. _But how many more times am I going to do that before I stop doing it or I don't get up?_ He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Do not worry, Kadar."**

"**You know I will anyway."**

**Malik smiled and nodded. "I know you will, but it's my job as your older brother not to worry. Now, could I beseech you to fetch dinner for me? I'm starved and not inclined to move." He laughed when Kadar heckled him and made a fuss even as he moved to do as his brother asked. When the door clicked shut, he turned to look out the window, across the darkened stronghold, with a frown. _I do not know what's taken hold of Alta__ϊr, nor do I care so long as it does not bring __permanent harm to himself, Kadar, or me._**

**_

* * *

_**

Aside from the chatter of Desmond's think-tank, it was absolutely silent in the room and that was precisely the reason why Lucy jumped halfway out of her skin when her laptop gave a shrill, ringing rendition of a phone.

"Getting a little too comfortable?" Rebecca sniggered.

Lucy grimaced when Shauna and Zack laughed at her reaction and ducked her head as she checked her personal computer. "Huh?" was the only thing she could think to say when she saw that it was a summons to a conference call – a very heavily encrypted conference call. But, she accepted it when she recognized the number by the odd area code, her heart leaping into her throat.

Rebecca saw Lucy adjust her laptop screen and assumed it was for the webcam. _What is going on now?_ She turned in her chair when everyone else went silent to see if she could get anything from Desmond, who could see Lucy's computer. But, she was stopped when she saw Subject 17 was practically frozen in place, skin pale and eyes wide. _Ooooh boy…_ The hacker halfway expected to hear the voice of the enemy and waited with that expectation.

"Good afternoon, Master Stillman."

Rebecca's brows furrowed when the voice didn't strike her as familiar. She finally got out of her chair to go sit by Desmond, partly to satisfy her curiosity and to give the novice a pillar of support for whatever had shocked him stupid. From the new vantage point, she could see Lucy's computer and the three video screens that had been brought up, as well as a fourth for her own webcam feed. _No one I know._

Lucy inclined her head and leaned back in her chair comfortably, her entire bearing going from tense and aggravated to calm and in control. "It is a pleasure to finally meet face-to-face, Master Redfield."

The eldest of the three in the call inclined his head and motioned with amazing accuracy to the left most screen. "My employ, Master Stillman, Lilly," he motioned to the right, "and Charlie. Your team will work closely with them in the coming weeks."

"A pleasure to meet you both," Lucy replied.

The younger man, Charlie, arched a brow at Lucy. "You have no Assassins with you, Master Stillman?"

Lucy laughed and held her hands up in surrender. "It's not for lack of them. They're all indisposed at the moment, trying to work on a problem we were handed very recently."

"Your father told me as much," the Master murmured. "Troubling news, if I understand correctly."

Lucy shrugged. "It has its pros and cons, to be honest. But, I can assure you that we're doing everything in our power to come to a solution before we face a crisis." She rested one leg on the other and laced her fingers over her knee. "So, to what do I owe such a swift reply, Master Redfield?"

"I know I gave you the impression that accepting your team into our stronghold would take some time, but after speaking with your father on matters at hand… Well, I believe that time is of the essence," the Master replied. "We all agree that striking the Templars sooner would be the smarter course of action."

Rebecca saw Lucy tense and had to give the woman credit for her ability to hide her emotions.

"How much sooner, if you don't mind my asking."

Charlie interjected, "How soon can you have a team here?"

"Huh… I can have a team out of here tomorrow morning if I was so inclined," Lucy replied. "But I would have to clear it with them first."

The Master took back over the conversation. "I also considered the request you made of me and I see no reason to deny you what you ask. If you trust the leader of your team to reclaim the Apple, then I will trust that he's ready."

"Thank you, Master Redfield. I'm sure he will be pleased to hear that." Lucy shifted slightly and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I appreciate your consideration, as well as your swift reply, but I would have to ask that we be give a little bit of time to collect ourselves."

"Take all the time you need, Master Stillman. When you are prepared, contact me and we will set up a rendezvous."

Lucy inclined her head. "I appreciate this more than you understand. The minute we are finished here, I will contact you." She held her ground until the call ended and then she turned in her chair with the strangest look on her face. And, just like that, she was in motion to practically tackle Desmond into the ground. "It's done!"

"What's done?" Desmond yelped, surprised at how strong Lucy really was. "Hey, _ow_!"

Lucy pulled away from Desmond, hands on his shoulders. "If you can retrieve the Apple, it'll be official, Desmond – you'll be a master-class Assassin!"

"Really? …Like, for real? The Trinity leader is okay with overseeing the Trial?" Desmond didn't even want to believe his luck had turned around that completely. "Are you sure it's not a trick?"

"No!" Lucy beamed. "I know you can do this, so it's as good as done!" She pulled Desmond into a strong hug, her previous anger apparently forgotten in the face of such news.

Desmond was too stunned to think past the fact that one more mission, twenty-six years of training would finally pay off. _But what will it get me?_ was the first question he had to ask. He was no safer, _certainly_ not any saner, covered in scars and bad memories, for what? An ancient ideal, some archaic war he was born into without a choice?

"Des?" Rebecca practically whispered.

But what choice did the others have? Desmond doubted a single member of his family had willingly taken up the Assassin's blade and he ultimately knew he wouldn't dishonor generations of faithful service to the Creed by punking out. He was born, would live, and eventually die an Assassin. While he was at it, might as well put some notches on his belt; that was his final decision.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked in fear that she's shocked Desmond into catatonia.

"When do we head out and who am I taking?" Desmond asked in return.

Lucy gasped; some small part of her had expected Desmond to turn down the whole idea. "You'll do it?"

Desmond nodded and jerked at thumb at Shaun, using old rivalry to cover his more heroic intentions. "I've been looking for a way to show that punk up for years." And, even while the girls laughed and the rest of the Assassins swooped in to celebrate, the mention of Shaun made the novice's stomach sink.

He was going to be furious when he found out.

* * *

"**I'll scout ahead before you dishonor us further." Malik _had_ to get away from Altaϊr before he rammed his hidden blade down the man's throat. _Innocents… What is his fetish for murdering innocents anymore?!_ He slammed his fist against the rough stone wall and felt a little calmer when his knuckles, abused from his scuffle with Altaϊr the night prior, sang in agony for the new damage. _I told Al Mualim that__ Altaϊr__ shouldn't come, but he refused to listen, and now look!_ He kept punching the wall as he walked until his rage bled out and his knuckles split from the unprovoked abuse. _What is it about him? What has possessed him?_**

"**Brother!"**

**Malik looked back as he reached the end of the corridor and thanked the heavens Kadar was smart enough to whisper after him instead of scream. "What is it, brother?"**

"**I do not think this is a good idea," Kadar murmured. "I have no idea what transpired between you and Altaϊr last night, but it's adding tension to an already ominous atmosphere."**

**Malik's rage couldn't survive in the face of Kadar's open concern and he sighed wearily as he placed his wounded hand on Kadar's shoulder. "Last night I merely attempted to use reason and persuasion to straighten our Eagle out and he responded badly." He smiled when Kadar leered at him. "That's all."**

**Kadar held his fists up. "This being reason," he shook his left, "and this being persuasion," and he shook his right fist. He groaned when Malik continued to smile at him and slapped his forehead. "No wonder he's in a bad mood! If he gets us killed, I'm going to blame it on you."**

**_And therein lies his worry._ Malik patted Kadar's cheek and murmured, "I will not let anything happen to us; you or that insufferable ox we call a brother. Despite Altaϊr's attitude, we will succeed in this mission as surely as any other and, when we return victorious, the Master will grant you your master's rank. Now, put such concerns aside and focus or you'll be the cause of your own demise."**

"**Sage advice from a boar."**

**Malik tensed and it was the hand Kadar laid on his arm that stopped him from inverting Altaϊr's skull. "Shall we proceed, ibn La-Ahad?" He used the name Altaϊr had gained on the streets as an orphan child to remind the man, in so many words, that he was on the black list.**

"**_Please_ stop," Kadar beseeched the pair. "This bickering is going to get us nowhere!"**

**Altaϊr completely ignored Kadar and brushed past Malik to disappear around a bend in the corridor.**

"**Arrogant ass," Malik hissed after him. He was fine with the younger Assassin taking leisure in less important missions, but he swore to destroy Altaϊr if he found a way to botch this one. _He will not ruin the single most important mission of Kadar's life. I do not care what he means to me, __Altaϊr__ will not take away my brother's one chance to become a master Assassin._**

"**Brother, come on, before he gets too far ahead and alerts the whole camp of our presence."**

**Malik snapped from his rapidly darkening thoughts and took point, careful to keep Kadar behind him without being obvious about it. He navigated the tunnels easily (Altaϊr gratuitous trail of dead bodies –more innocents– made the task easier still) and he caught up with Altaϊr in good time.**

"**There he is," Altaϊr whispered, gray eyes trained on the bald man snapping and barking at his quivering subordinates below. "Robert de Sable."**

"**Steady yourself," Malik snarled. He knew, heaven help him, he _knew_ and held some small measure of sympathy for his lover. _It is no reason to endanger Kadar's status, but this cannot be easy. To face the man that took your family from you…_ He shook his head and offered an olive branch by placing a hand on Altaϊr's shoulder. "Steady, Altaϊr,"he repeated in a much gentler tone.**

**Altaϊr didn't have to speak to further wound Malik when he knocked the older Assassin's hand from his shoulder.**

**The meaning was simple to Malik and he understood Altaϊr's quiet way of saying that he was going to do this alone and on his terms, damn the rest. _So be it._ Resolve hurt worse than he thought, but he had distance himself to preserve himself, his lover, his brother, and his brother's mission if they were to all succeed.**

**If they wanted to survive, Malik knew he would have to be the binding force that got them out alive.**

**

* * *

**Wow, an update in less than a month - I'm appalled. XD

Now that I have the set-up, I want to start running this a little faster (read: A LOT faster) and get it moving towards the end.


	19. Near Miss

"Sooo, Des…"

Desmond sighed in near-exasperation and turned to find Rebecca hovering over his shoulder. "Can I help you with something?" he inquired warily. Attentions had quickly gone to straw after news of his tentative, upcoming promotion and he had called a halt of all activity for the day. He had kept plugging away at the material the group had managed to cover and was quite content in his little corner. It was irksome to be drawn out of it and disconcerting that Rebecca had called him out with that shit-eating grin of hers.

Rebecca sat down Indian-style and laced her hands together over her ankles. "What was with you earlier? You were mad tense when the Master called."

_Oh God…_ Desmond had prayed that Rebecca wouldn't ask him about his reaction to Master Redfield's correspondence and could have kicked her for being so damned keen. "It was nothing," he tried in a meek attempt to deflect the hacker's curiosity.

"That wasn't 'nothing'," Rebecca chided. "You were genuinely frozen. Skeletons in your closet?"

Desmond tried to go back to his research and growled in annoyance when Rebecca closed the lid of the laptop he'd been using. "Becca, please drop it."

Rebecca crossed her arms and feigned irritation. "Is it going to interfere with your mission, Des?"

"No, it won't."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"I said it won't, so it won't."

"He tensed up because he's from the Trinity stronghold."

Desmond's eyes widened as he snapped his head around with an audible crack. "Lucy!" He'd known the whole time that Lucy was privy to his history thanks to her work in Abstergo, but had run under the assumption that she'd never breathe a word of what she knew. It wasn't pleasant to have his expectations fall short after the way she'd kept her mouth shut with Shaun and he was sorely tempted to throw something heavy at her head.

Rebecca just smiled complacently and patted Desmond's shoulder. "See, that would have been much easier than trying to dodge me."

Desmond shrugged Rebecca's hand off his shoulder with a scowl. "It's none of your business, either of you."

Lucy turned from her work to plaster Desmond with a downright frightening glare. "It's my business because you are under my charge and I am fully aware that being in Trinity could affect your performance. If you screw up, I have to answer for it because I vouched for you."

"I'm not going to screw up!" Desmond exclaimed. "Don't underestimate me!"

"It's not underestimation, but concern," Lucy replied in carefully measured tones. "I'm not sure how closely you've watched the Trinity stronghold, but Charlie is Redfield's right hand now and Lily serves right under Charlie."

Desmond's defense crumbled under his exasperation. "So I have to work with them?"

"Directly," Lucy confirmed.

"Why, who are they to you?" Rebecca asked.

Desmond knew he wouldn't get anywhere if he kept dodging the questions and decided that answering them would be much easier. "They're my older siblings."

Rebecca made a curious sound and shrugged. "So?"

"We split on bad terms," Desmond grumbled. "Charlie and Lily caught me when I attempted to sneak out and we might have gotten into a little bit of a fight…" He scratched the back of his head and sighed. "They let me go, but not before they warned me that Abstergo would eventually catch me if I left the stronghold. I'll never hear the end of it when I face them."

Rebecca leaned forward with a smile. "Then tell them to fuck off! You couldn't have been that old when you left and it's not like you wound up in a bad spot."

"I suppose…"

"Desmond, I can already see what the thought of them is doing to you," Lucy stated. "I don't blame you because I did the same thing, but you can't let it distract you." She rested her cheek against her fist. "If you're going to make point to your brother and sister, you can't falter."

"I'm not out to prove anything to anyone," Desmond shot back. "I'm going there to collect the Apple, that's it."

Lucy held her hands up and turned back to her terminal. "Then that's it – I trust that you won't let it go any further than that."

Rebecca nodded in agreement and jumped up to go back to her computer. "Yeah. And besides, a few of us are gonna be with you, so we'll just do your light work if your big brother and sister give you any lip."

"Great, I have a hit squad now." Desmond's tone was flat, but it showed in his smile that he appreciated Rebecca's sentiment. "So, uh… we gonna pull Shaun out anytime soon? I'd like to get the verbal flaying over with."

Lucy chuckled and glanced over her screen. "This sequence is almost done, then we'll call it a day." Her expression darkened a bit as she added, "I would keep the news under wraps for a little while. Shaun's going to need a little moral support after this one."

Desmond could only guess that Shaun had gotten as far as Solomon's Temple and suddenly pitied the man. "Yeah, I guess so…" He looked around to try and figure out where he had been in his research. He could only sigh when he realized he couldn't find his place because he didn't want to work anymore.

"Hey, Des?"

"Yeah, Becca?"

"Why didn't you say anything when we first mentioned the mission?"

Desmond shrugged and started to collect his notes to put them into some semblance of order. "There are two strongholds in the area and I guess I was hoping against hope that it wouldn't be my former home. Guess the Furies don't like me all that much."

Rebecca giggled and tried not to agree too loudly.

"Go on and laugh," Desmond chided.

Even if Rebecca wanted to laugh, she was interjected by a balled up post-it note that Lucy threw at her. "Whaaa?" she whined.

"Shaun's vitals are starting to go off-kilter," Lucy replied. "Let's pull him out and call it a day." She added under her breath, "God knows we're going to have enough on our hands as it is without adding to the problems."

Desmond didn't like the ominous tone in Lucy's voice and hopped to his feet to over to the Animus 2.0. Instinct had him coiled for something he couldn't consciously put his finger on and that feeling of imminent trouble grew worse as Rebecca and Lucy ticked off the disengagement procedures.

At first, there was nothing to hint trouble thanks to the lag. Shaun was dead still, but the faster rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was conscious again. The first flutter of his eyelashes heralded no more trouble, but once the lag wore off, all hell broke loose.

Desmond reacted out of sheer reflex, dancing out of Shaun's way when the older novice sprang to his feet. He stayed the instinct to put Shaun down and waited on a terse defensive.

Shaun seemed to take stock of his surroundings and recognized none of them. His mutterings seemed like the ravings of a madman to all but Desmond, who could understand what he said perfectly.

Then Shaun set eyes on Desmond and that was it.

Desmond ducked low under the right-handed swing Shaun took at him and rose with his arms in a defensive cross to catch the next punch. He missed the foot that came at him and almost went down hard; he followed the movement to roll back to his feet in time for Shaun's next swing to cut across his face. Subject 17 ignored the brilliant sting in his nose and the discomfiting crunch he heard, focused on decommissioning Shaun without hurting him. He watched carefully, pulling everything he knew from observing Malik to predict Shaun's next movement. It was surprisingly difficult – the man was damnably adept at fighting with three limbs.

Finally, Desmond saw his opportunity and rushed in. His left hand went around Shaun's throat as he pushed the older man hard into a support column and his right arm activated the hidden blade. Desmond had no intentions of using it, but was relieved when its mere presence in Shaun's face stopped him dead.

"What the fuck?" Rebecca exclaimed into the tense silence.

"Not right now," Lucy hissed.

Desmond appreciated the backup and looked Shaun in the eyes. He knew the older novice was trapped in the last memory, fighting for his life and Kadar's against the Templars and screaming mad over Altaϊr's actions. Shaun didn't see any of them – he saw potential enemies in Lucy and Rebecca if they moved and Altaϊr in Desmond. Quietly, with the mere threat in the air between them, Desmond loosened his grip on Shaun's neck and murmured, "You're not in Solomon's Temple, you're not Malik. Come back to center, Shaun."

Shaun was quiet until Desmond removed his hand. Despite the blade in his face, he lunged at Desmond with an animalistic snarl and plowed him into the floor. With admirable skill, he seized Desmond's braced wrist and forced his own hidden blade against his throat hard enough to draw blood.

Everything went dead still until the heavy click and snap of a gun being loaded resounded through the room. Desmond saw the change in Shaun's eyes when he heard the round chamber up and breathed a sigh of relief when sanity returned to the other's eyes.

Lucy didn't move all the same, standing over Shaun with her gun aimed at his head, ready to pull the trigger.

Shaun croaked out some sort of question that choked when he realized he had Desmond at blade-point and had drawn blood.

Desmond barely had time to register Shaun's return to the real world before he was yanked up and pulled into a bone-crushing embrace. He floundered for a moment, unsure of what to do until he felt Shaun shaking and heard the choked, breathless sobs that wracked his body. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around the older novice, face buried in his shoulder and a hand held to the back of his neck bracingly.

It was everything Desmond _wished_ he had when he'd come out of his first successful Animus session, insane one minute and crying like a girl the next. He would have killed to have somebody there to cling to, a convenient shirt to fist his hands into, a steady chest to rest his forehead on, someone who would just _be there _until the episode passed.

And, just like Desmond's first trauma passed, so did Shaun's and he gave a shaky laugh as he murmured into Desmond's chest, "Fucking twat w-would have shot me."

Desmond pulled Shaun back a bit and titled his head down to smile warmly. "That's the Shaun I love to hate." He laughed when Shaun just let his head bang against his chest and kissed the top of his head. "You okay now?"

Shaun nodded and finally disengaged from Desmond and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at his eyes. "Suddenly, mate, I don't think I envy you so much." He looked up and shook his head in a mix of disgust and wonderment. "It comes to a point where it feels real… I mean… I knew I was out of the Animus, but I still thought I was Malik. It was like my mind split into two pieces and couldn't figure out which reality I was in."

"That comes with perfect synchronization," Rebecca stated from where she had come to stand by Lucy. She looked shaken and ashamed, mostly because she had her own sidearm in hand and had been ready to disarm _Lucy_ if she'd really shown intentions of shooting Shaun. "You, uh… you fight well," she put in with a sheepish giggle.

"I know," Shaun groaned. "That theory you girls had, concerning the Bleeding Effect on me, I think you got lucky." He tapped his temple with a grimace. "I've got twenty and some odd years of training up here, on top of the sixteen years I _actually_ did."

Desmond blinked and asked, "You really assimilated the events that we skipped?" He saw the way Shaun averted his eyes and the blush that colored his cheeks. "…_All_ of them?"

Shaun nodded miserably. "Every bloody one of them." He recoiled when Desmond promptly started laughing and glared at the younger novice, almost furious that he would laugh. "What is so funny, Miles?" His fist curled as he prepared to knock the stupid grin right off of Desmond's face.

"Welcome to my hell!" Desmond chuckled. "At least you got to skip it all!"

Shaun realized what Desmond was talking about and his blush deepened. _That's true, isn't it? Desmond had to plot a course straight through his ancestors' lives. I get to skip a great deal of the memories, but he didn't have that luxury._ "I-I suppose you're right," he murmured.

Desmond ruffled Shaun's hair with an affectionate grin. "Don't worry about it. It happens and it might happen again." He flicked his gaze up to Lucy and his eyes darkened with a silent threat. "However, it was agreed that we _don't_ shoot teammates."

Lucy flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry." She didn't argue that the team has also agreed that first blood was last blood under duress of the fear that one cut could lead to accidental murder. "It wasn't done maliciously." She set her gun down on Rebecca's desk and flinched when the hacker took the sidearm and hid it away.

"It's fine," Shaun stated. "I expect as much." He eyed the cut across Desmond's throat and his stomach tied itself in another knot. "I used to think the precautions were bullshit, but I think I see now why we implemented them in the first place." His expression hardened as he asked, "Why didn't you do anything?"

Desmond didn't like the accusatory tone in Shaun's voice and spat back, "Because I didn't see a need to."

"Don't lie."

Rebecca and Lucy wisely backed up when they smelled a fight brewing.

"I'm not lying!"

"You hesitated and I could have killed you."

"I didn't hesitate. I have two ancestors' training backing me and you have one ancestor's limited training. I could have put you down _without_ killing you if I was pushed."

"You were afraid that you would have to kill me and bloody well hesitated! How else did you get your own goddamned blade turned on you?"

Desmond stormed to his feet, glaring down at Shaun angrily. "Then next time I'll just put you down like a rabid dog." He leaned in, gray-brown eyes belying the sense of betrayal he hide behind a furious mask as he hissed, "Trust me, there will be a next time."

* * *

"_Bones_!"

Everyone in the common room promptly dropped what they were doing to stare at Josh like he had grown a second head that spoke in tongues. The Assassin in question grinned sheepishly and pointed at the TV guide he'd been scrolling through. He flicked the cursor down a few slots to highlight a television show with the very same name he had randomly cried out in the silence.

"And you did that… _why_?" Fang-Yi inquired with a curious tilt of her head.

Josh scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. "I used to love watching that show and I just remembered something from it." He glanced around and saw that everyone was waiting for him to continue. "Well, long story short is that there's this one, one-going string of homicides committed by a cannibalistic serial killer that the main cast call 'Gormogon'. I just remembered that there's one episode where one of the characters had made a note that 'Gormogon' isn't a person, but a group of persons that were said to have some affiliation with the Freemasons."

And suddenly Josh's randomness made so much more sense.

"They were an eighteenth century society with no known goal and no record of their dealings."

Savaş rolled his head over the back of the couch to stare at Shaun. "Do you have good timing or some sort of radar for history speak?" he asked with a wry smile.

"I heard the genius mention the Gormogons when I passed by," Shaun replied, his voice holding a note of strain as he flopped down on the sectional couch between Rainer and Zack. "So, why are you talking about the Gormogons?"

"What do you know about them?" Shauna asked in turn.

Shaun shrugged. "As much as anyone else. They were suspected to be Jacobite leaning group that was dedicated to upholding the Freemason name through ridicule. Conspiracy theorists believe that the Gormogons were actually in dispute with the Freemasons because of their emblem, which was similar to the Freemason with the exception of the use of a human skull in the design." He pushed is glasses up and asked again, "Why is that?"

"Rebecca had this loopy theory about a handful of old conspiracy nut favorites," Ehren replied lightly. "Who did she point out?"

"The Illuminati, the Freemasons, the Priory of Sion, and now we have the Gormogon is some capacity," Rainer supplied. "But it's all such obscure history that we can't really go far with it." He looked over at Shaun. "We all started a physical hunt for the temples today."

"Any progress?"

"Nope! We've got more loose ends then we started with," Zack beamed with a healthy amount of sarcasm. "Throwing more confusion into the mix won't help anything."

Savaş leaned forward to regard Shaun. "Did you find anything out?"

Shaun shook his head with a bitter scowl. "Nothing yet. It was all warm-ups."

Savaş shrugged and kicked his feet up on the table. "Then there's nothing we can do about it tonight."

"But there's got to be something!" Shauna argued. "I mean… it sounds sorta crazy, but does anyone think that it's just crazy enough to be a lead?" She sighed when no one bothered to back her up. "Listen, we have four groups here, all obscured by history and on conflicting sides in some way! Really, just run with this!"

"Shauna…" Zack warned. "Don't go off on nutty theories like Lucy does."

Shauna huffed and persisted anyway. "The Illuminati are the Freemasons are Abstergo are the Knights Templar. The Priory of Sion are the Gormogons are the Assassins. Conflicting parties that have jumped names through the ages to keep the war underground, never drawing more notice than necessary."

Pieces of Shauna's ranting session rose and fell in pitch in a way that Shaun recognized all too well and his mind started working over what he knew of each of the named groups. _Some of the sects were combatant and others were not; some are rumored to exist today and others are not…_ He set his elbows on his thighs and laced his fingers together in front of his face. _There's something to this, but what?_ His thoughts turned back to the Animus. _Are there records of Altaϊr's decisions as the Master of Assassins? These sects are far-reaching, so did he keep his campaign to Syria or did __he branch out? …What happened when Masyaf was attacked?_

"Uh oh," Fang-Yi snickered, "Shaun's got that look again."

"Whose theory is this? …Aside from Rebecca contributing, who's heading this research?" Shaun asked.

"Desmond," Rainer answered plainly.

Shaun's shoulders slumped; no way in hell was he going to get anywhere near the man at the moment. "Okay…" He got up and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Savaş called.

"To do what I'm best at doing," Shaun replied.

* * *

"Desmond?"

Desmond rolled his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder and titled his head to regard Lucy in the waning daylight. "Come up here to convince me to apologize to Shaun?"

Lucy sighed and sat down on the edge of the roof next to the novice, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear. "I don't think I could convince either of you of anything, even if I really wanted to." She smiled when Desmond snorted in agreement. "First thing I wanted to do was apologize to you for lashing out. I just… I lost my temper."

"It's fine," Desmond replied. He had already let the episode with Lucy go, having figured that he would have lashed out too if someone had suggested that someone under his charge was a traitor. "I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"That was no excuse for me to pulverize your face," Lucy shot back. "And I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted, if that's what you want to hear," Desmond replied with a faint smile. "Next thing?"

Lucy stared out across the horizon, the very same one she had frequently admired as a little girl. "I'm also sorry for not telling you about the assignment. I should have warned you that you would be returning to your home stronghold and I didn't."

"No big deal," Desmond murmured. "I just hope the MOD squad doesn't make it one."

"And… who are you going to take with you?"

_Ah, the truth in the matter._ Desmond's smile brightened a little when he realized that Lucy was trying to mother him without being too overbearing. "I'm probably going to bring a team of six with pairs efficient in computers, recon, and combat. I was thinking Rainer and Ehren for combat, Fang-Yi and Rebecca for computers, and Savaş and Seiya for recon."

Lucy couldn't argue with the line-up, but was worried about the number going.

"Less is more," Desmond immediately replied. "Fewer people going in means less chance of us being caught and a better chance of all of us getting out alive."

Lucy chuckled. "You learned a few tactical lessons from Altaϊr, I see."

Desmond shrugged and replied, "It can't be helped." He sighed and shook his head. "I just hope the old man agrees with the method."

"He already said that all decisions on this mission are in your hands," Lucy stated. "Charlie and Lily, being heads of security, will merely collaborate information and offer what help you ask for."

Desmond nodded surely. "Then everything's going to be fine."

Lucy saw Desmond's hand float up to his bandaged neck and her smile soured. "Shaun didn't have a right to snap at you."

Desmond startled and twisted to regard Lucy's somber countenance. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to ask you to apologize to Shaun because you have no reason to," Lucy answered quietly. "He had no right to accuse you and he had even less right to bark at you." She pulled her hand through her ponytail, bearing intense and broody. "If he had snapped at me, I would have allowed it because I had full intentions of shooting him if he didn't stop. But you… There was no right or reason."

"I did pull a weapon on him first," Desmond countered evenly. "I mean, we all sort of pulled weapons on each other. Me and Shaun shared, you had a bead on Shaun's head and I'm pretty sure Becca had a nice bead on the back of _your_ head."

"Exactly!"

"I mean that it was tense," Desmond clarified. "Everyone reacted within the expected parameters." He dropped his hand from his throat after running his fingers over the bandage one more time. "When Shaun calms down, I'll talk to him."

"About what?" Lucy asked.

Desmond dropped his head to stare at his left arm, now devoid of his bracer and hidden blade after the near-miss earlier. "Why he doesn't trust me. I know there's a lot of shit, but… I dunno." He growled in annoyance. "Is it me or does it seem like one step forward is one step back between us?"

Lucy shrugged almost helplessly. "He's slow to trust, that much I know. There's history between you two, but with his memory as hazy as it is at present time, you're in the same rank as me or Becca – an ally, but someone to keep an eye on."

"I know that!" Desmond pulled at his hair in irritation. "But I'm getting sick of this shit! He'll act like I guy I used to know one minute and then turn into the asshole I was reintroduced to after you sprang me from Abstergo. It's driving me up a wall!"

"It can't be pleasant for him either," Lucy tried gently. "He _is_ trying and you do have to give that there's been a lot of turmoil."

Desmond glanced at Lucy around his arm. "Whose side are you on, lady?"

Lucy smiled and held her hands up. "I'm just trying to help you put everything into perspective, that's all." She laid a hand on Desmond's arm and titled her head. "I won't interject where I don't need to, but I wouldn't suggest that you let this sit for too long. Sooner or later, Shaun's going to find out that you're leaving and if you don't tell him before the grapevine does, it'll cause more damage than you want to deal with."

"I know," Desmond sighed, resting a hand over Lucy's. "So, we're square now, boss?"

Lucy pulled her hand free to swat Desmond's shoulder. "Yes we are, but don't call me that."

Desmond chuckled and purposely messed up Lucy's hair, his smile widening when she growled and swatted him harder. He still had a nagging weight holding him back, all tied to the Trinity mission, but he felt marginally better with the recent internal trouble settled between the two of them. "Thanks, Luc."

"For what?"

"Talking… listening to me. Sometimes, the shit in my head just piles up and I don't know what to do with it."

"Well, you're welcome then. If you ever need an ear, I'll listen."

"Good, I might need it after I deal with Shaun."

Lucy's smile turned devious, a little too much like Rebecca's. "I'm sure a good pile driving would help him immensely."

Desmond gaped stupidly as Lucy giggled like a school girl, astounded that she had actually had the gall to say such a thing. "I-I… That's it, you're not allowed to hang out with Rebecca anymore!" was all he could get out before they both started laughing.

After so much chaos and heartache, it felt so good to laugh that they soon fell into hysterics just because it felt normal.


	20. Window of Opportunity

It was almost midnight by the time Shaun had decided to turn in. He would have loved to work longer with the progress that he had managed to make, but knew that staying up all night would be detrimental to him in the morning. So, he had wrapped up his research and returned to his quarters; he remembered too late that he and Desmond were roomed together and stood stock still after he closed the door.

Desmond didn't even look up from the book he had propped up against his bent legs, just reached over to turn his music up loud enough that it could be heard throughout the room.

Shaun sighed in annoyance and kicked his shoes off, purposely aiming them so they hit against Desmond's bed. His irritation doubled when Desmond merely turned the page and then turned to write something in the notebook at his side. It was a new tactic, for the novice to ignore him completely and he had a feeling that nothing he did –shy of physical violence– would break his silence. _That's fine. If he wants to ignore me, that means I can sleep in peace without having to pry him off me first._ He stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, leaving his clothes by the nightstand, before he went to crash into his bed. He just laid there for a while, enjoying the way his body uncoiled from the maniac tension of the evening. But, in the silence, he could hear Desmond's music a little too well, his ears piqued to the mournful guitar and drum solo that permeated the air.

"_There's no feeling in this place._

_Echoes of the past speak louder than any voice I hear right now._

_Don't you ever try to be more then you destined for _

_Or anything worth fighting for._

_Don't you ever try to be more then you were destined for_

_or anything worth fighting for."_

Shaun turned over to sit up, eying Desmond critically over the edge of his glasses. He knew Subject 17 well enough to know that when he started listening to heavier varieties of metal, he was pissed. But, this was a new one; not only was it a new band, but a whole new sound and lyric set. The lyrics chilled his blood, reminding him far too much of Desmond's innermost fears, that he would eventually fall to madness, that he wouldn't be worth the breath in his lungs when he did fall.

Then Shaun saw what Desmond was working on, the words "Piece of Eden" lighting up gold on the notebook. His throat went dry as he kept following the unguarded words, picking up names of Assassins he dared to call friends and a location that Desmond had circled a handful of times. _Trinity? As in the testing site?_ He worried his thumbnail as he tried to figure out what a handful of Assassins, the Apple, and an old nuclear testing site would have in common. Slowly, he let his eyes wander up the book Desmond had perched on his legs and caught a glimpse of old silo housings and blueprints of those complexes.

_07.06.2012_ lit up at the bottom of Desmond's notes when Shaun tried to get a better look at the page and his breath froze in his lungs when he saw _Departure on 07.07.2012_ right under the first date. The answers started to stack up when Shaun found times and locations around the two dates, names of unfamiliar people and a short supply list.

"Knock it off."

Desmond's voice, short and sharp, cut through Shaun's rampant thoughts. He looked up to find the younger man glaring at him, notebook pulled tighter to his body to protect it. "What… when were you going to tell me?"

"I wasn't," Desmond replied. "You have enough to worry about."

Shaun gaped and floundered for a moment, astounded that he was being swept to the side so casually. "You're… You're fucking leaving tomorrow and you weren't going to tell me?"

"I'm actually leaving with the team in a few hours," Desmond replied. "I talked to those involved and we all agreed that faster is better. Master Redfield took a risk contacting us and we want to get a jump on the Templars in case they intercepted the call."

"When did this happen?" Shaun demanded.

"This afternoon, while you were under," Desmond answered in the same dead tones. "We'll be in Nevada by morning and that will give us enough time to think-tank with the Assassins there, get into the base, and get out with the Apple."

Shaun held his hand up and used the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. "So, wait, you're telling me that you're going to run off to an abandoned nuclear testing facility to get the Apple?"

"There's a facility there that's being used to launch the satellite. If we want it, that's where we have to go."

"And you think you're just going to get in and out?"

"No, which is why seven of us are going, to minimalize the chance of casualties."

"And you were just going to sneak out without telling me?"

"It's not worth fighting over."

Shaun floundered again at the cold defeatism Desmond was displaying. At the same time, he was hurt by the fact that the novice was just going to run off on a suicide mission without _telling_ him, just let him worry himself to death until he either returned or was reported as KIA. "Desmond…"

"I'm not talking about it, Shaun. I'm going and it's not up to debate." Desmond glanced up from his book with a particularly vicious look in his eyes. "Now go to sleep. You're going to feel like shit if you're up all night and then spend all day in the Animus."

Something in Shaun snapped at the dismissal. How dare Desmond presume to throw his worry back in his face and then order him to bed like he was a child.

Desmond didn't hear Shaun move; he was caged by the novice's arms and legs in the time it took him to realize that his materials had been knocked away and scattered by Shaun's angry advance. He looked up, almost impassive, still very unwilling to start a fight. But, before he could get Shaun off of him, he was shocked senseless when a hand captured his jaw before Shaun leaned down to kiss him. He didn't quite know how to react at first, numb to the desperation in the action and unsure of the older man's motives. By the time he did get up the common sense to kiss back, Shaun had pulled away with a dark look in his eyes.

"You're that angry with me." It was a statement, not a question.

Desmond sighed and shook his head. "I'm angry that you would rather me kill you then try to find a way to bring you around." He placed a hand against Shaun's cheek, indifference bleeding into worry. "That scared me, when you asked why I hesitated. It terrified me to hear that you were actually angry that I didn't put you down like a rabid dog… that you hold such low regard for yourself. And I was angry that you accused me of wanting my blood on your hands."

Shaun remained silence, slowly processing Desmond's words and rationalizing them. He got everything into a nice, neat package that could be easily stated as, "I fucked up."

"No, you didn't. You reacted just like I did."

Shaun pressed his fingers to the bandage that covered Desmond's neck. "You didn't hurt someone you cared about, Des." He stroked the backs of his fingers against Desmond's jaw gently. "I wanted to kill you, thought that you were Altaϊr. I… I could feel Kadar's blood on my hands, the pain in my left arm… All I could focus on was killing you because of who I thought you were."

"It's the nature of the beast, which is why I didn't immediately shoot you," Desmond replied quietly. "Remember, I've gone through this all before."

Shaun chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Then you're not angry?"

"Hardly." Desmond kissed the tip of Shaun's nose. "Just don't stay stupid shit like you did earlier or I'll give you what for." He yelped when Shaun suddenly moved and stared down at the older novice with wide eyes when he found himself straddling Shaun. "Hi?"

"My leg hurts," Shaun stated, hands resting comfortably on Desmond's hips. "So… can I talk you into leaving a little later?"

"I was serious when I said it wasn't up for discussion," Desmond replied. "You have minimal training and a broken leg, neither of which is going to work in my favor."

Shaun hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Desmond's jeans, face drawn into an expression that was equal parts kicked puppy and understanding. "Who are you bringing then?"

"Becca, Rainer, Ehren, Seiya, Savaş, and Fang-Yi."

_At least I know he'll be with a group I trust,_ Shaun admitted to himself, even if he was still uneasy about letting Desmond glob trot by himself. There was also a niggling bit of irritation, that his inabilities had removed him from the roster without a moment's consideration; hadn't he proved before that his leg wasn't that great of a hindrance?

"I know that look," Desmond suddenly stated.

"What look?" Shaun challenged.

"The 'I'm not an invalid' look that Malik must have given Altaïr a million times."

"Well, it's justified! I can more than hold my own."

Desmond smiled wryly. "I know that, but even if I did want to bring you, you're needed here. We need to find out if there's any more information on the temples hidden in your lineage and running around after me won't be too helpful. You'll be just as helpful here as you would be in Nevada."

Shaun hated it when Desmond had an inarguable point.

"Besides, I have a theory and I'm going to need your help to confirm or deny it."

"You seriously think that fourteen different historical factions –that might or might not have existed– have something to do with the Assassins?"

"…Stranger things have happened?"

Shaun laughed at the nonplussed look on Desmond's face and shook his head. "I heard a bit of this theory of yours from the others… Josh actually brought another faction into play. Have you ever heard of The Gormogons?"

"Er, sorta?" Desmond made a face and asked, "Which side does Josh think they played for?"

"The Assassins and it makes sense if you overlook the fact that we're all pulling at obscure, possibly untrue history."

Desmond hummed thoughtfully, his eyes wandering to the side to stare idly at the wall as he thought. "Maybe not," he murmured after a long pause. "I don't know if you've seen it yet, but there was a point in time where Altaïr and Malik split into two different sectors. Caused a hell of a fight between the two, because Altaïr's idea was to split the Brotherhood into two factions to throw off the Templars. One would be a combatant faction that would take charge of attacking and defending against Templar advancement. The other faction would be noncombatant, responsible for intelligence and shit."

"Did they actually split?" Shaun asked, completely unaware of _that_ portion of Altaïr and Malik's history.

Desmond nodded. "Altaïr stayed in Masyaf and Malik returned to Jerusalem; one stayed the Master of Assassins and the other became…" He trailed off, his eyes widening when a thought occurred to him. "Goddamnit! I'm such an idiot."

Shaun wasn't stupid enough to reply to that statement.

"Through the tail end of the Crusades, the Priory of Sion was allied to the Knights Templar. When the Crusades ended, the Priory's Grandmaster called for the execution of all Templar operatives to protect some secret of theirs. The Priory didn't actually act by itself, but with the help of an allied, outside force." Desmond looked down at Shaun. "I remember Altaïr gearing up for a _huge_ mission once it was made apparent that the Crusades were over and he spoke repeated about something 'that cannot fall into Templar hands'."

"So you think the Priory was Malik's faction," Shaun surmised.

"Which later became the Illuminati, who were said to have infiltrated the Freemasons with the intent of overthrowing their control without spilling blood."

"And if you conclude that the Gormogon were anti-Freemason…"

"The Illuminati were the noncombatant faction and the Gormogon were the combatant faction!" Desmond clapped his hands together, far too excited that his theory was starting to make a little sense. "And Sixteen's videos… the glyphs he left and the clues he dropped… How in the fuck do they tie into the whole mess?"

Shaun shrugged a shoulder lightly. "Assuming that Sixteen was actually into something more than madness?"

"There's something there," Desmond shot back. "He mentioned _a lot_ of different things though and a lot of the locations referred to ancient temples. Mayan, Aztec, Incan, Egyptian… Are they really the temples Minerva wanted us to find or are they leads to the actual temples?"

Shaun patted Desmond's hip and helpfully supplied, "Why don't you try focusing on your mission and leave the thinking to me? You may hurt yourself otherwise."

Desmond gaped and swatted Shaun's shoulder. "Asshole!"

"I have a direction now," Shaun stated. "I'll talk to Rebecca and Lucy about skipping straight to when Altaïr and Malik gained charge of the Assassins. It's not like I'll be losing any training and you do have to admit that we need to get as much information as possible as the shortest, safest time."

"I won't disagree," Desmond replied hesitantly. "But what makes you thinking skipping the time between the Temple and the siege is such a good idea?"

"The tone of the one page from Malik's writings suggests that he started writing _after_ the siege. It also suggests that he used the Apple for his own ends, which means my sessions may have drastically different answers from your own." Shaun slid his hands down to rest them on Desmond's thighs. "So, that's where I'm going to go."

Desmond rested his hands over Shaun's to keep him from getting any funny ideas. "Then I guess we'll leave it at that. Josh, Zack, and Shauna were all in on the brainstorming session earlier today, so they can give you a hand once you get back into the physical research."

Shaun doubled back on Desmond's statement and his brows furrowed. "How long is this mission going to take?"

"As long as it needs to," Desmond replied. "I'm not going to rush because that'll only lose us the Apple and possibly get one or more of us killed. Whether it takes two days or a week, I'm going to take my time and do what I can to succeed without massive casualties." He smirkingly added, "There's also the matter of getting in without alerting a soul. It _is_ a missile silo and I really don't want to be turned into a radioactive pile of ashes because the Templars like to use the most drastic methods to eradicate their enemies."

Shaun paled considerably; the notion hadn't even struck him that the team was going into a Templar controlled nuclear complex. "Oh dear…"

Desmond laughed and leaned down to kiss Shaun. "It'll be fine. I think we're all a bit smarter than that." He patted Shaun's cheek and hopped off the bed with a light bounce. "Now, I have to finish getting packed and make sure that everyone's ready in time to get through airport security."

Shaun sat up on his elbows, worry hidden under a blank mask. "And you running right out the door isn't rushing?"

"I want to get set up in Trinity immediately so I _can_ pick their brains for what I need," Desmond retorted evenly. "Don't worry, Shaun. I'll come back in one piece." He smiled warmly, reassuringly, even though his own doubts darkened his eyes. "You just do what you do best and I'll be back before you can miss me."

* * *

Lucy sighed in annoyance when her cell phone started ringing and buzzing angrily across her desk, sparing it a nasty glance sideways. She had better things to do than chat all night with God knew who, but habit had her checking the calling ID all the same; she was happy she did because the caller was someone she _definitely_ wanted to talk to. "Hello, Lucy speaking."

"Evening, Lucy. How goes the endeavors on your end?"

"Pretty good," Lucy replied as she flipped to the last of the reports she wanted to compile from Shaun's session. "We've got the break-in sessions done with Shaun and we're ready to hit the ground running tomorrow. Desmond and a handful of our Assassins are shipping out in a few hours for Nevada."

"What on earth for?"

"We're going to get the Apple before the Templars can either move it or launch it."

"Ah, then it's a good thing I called?"

Lucy nodded and realized the movement wouldn't be seen. "Is there any way for you and maybe one other to get away from Abstergo long enough to get into Trinity?"

"You want someone to watch Desmond's back, I presume?"

"Exactly. This is his first solo mission, his trial, and our only chance to get the Apple back in our possession, so I would like some extra hands available in case the mission is endangered."

"I think a couple of us can shadow the Eagle, if that would make you feel better." There was a smile in the voice that was accompanied by rich laughter. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, any news on your end?"

There was a pause, a little too terse for comfort, and then finally, "There has been a development, that's why I called."

Lucy didn't like that tone and held her breath. "What is it?"

"First, I have to assure you that I just found out about this myself; Xander finally managed to pry himself from R&D to tell me."

"What _is_ it?"

"Abstergo has been playing God again, I'm afraid. After sixteen miserable failures and a questionable win with Seventeen, the R&D team have started to develop an anti-venom for the Animus' fatal flaw."

"A fix for the Bleeding Effect?" Lucy dropped everything, which almost included her cell phone. "That's fantastic news!"

"No it's not," was the bitter reply. "They're developing it in ways that I can't even begin to comprehend and I'm relatively intelligent. They can either reverse the Bleeding Effect entirely and leave a specimen with all the knowledge of their ancestors and none of their abilities. Or they can maximize the damages, tear the specimen's psyche to pieces, and have nothing more than a killing machine with no sense of self or morals. It's… it's dangerous and they're already testing it."

Lucy was far less excited and wished her blood would unfreeze in her veins. "Has is worked?"

"With results far better than expected for a prototype."

"And what do they expect to accomplish with this machine of theirs?"

"An army. If the Templar themselves cannot eradicate the Assassins, then they'll use Assassin super-soldiers to do the work for them." Another tense pause. "Efforts are also going to be redoubled to hunt down Desmond and now Shaun as well. The Grandmaster has decided to heed the words of our ancestors and they want the Eagle and the Jackal in their custody."

"To destroy them or win them the war?" Lucy had to ask.

"First to win, then to destroy them."

Lucy was bright enough to put all of the pieces together and she didn't like the bottom line; it made her rethink sending Desmond out with no less than a battalion.

"Lucy?"

"I'm thinking, is all."

"Desmond will be fine. I will make sure that nothing happens to him, I swear it on my life."

"I trust you, just… don't be seen, whatever you do. As I've said before, Desmond realizes there's insiders and if he sees you or whoever else you bring, he won't hesitate to kill you."

"I'll heed that warning. Thank you. Safety and peace, Master."

"Safety and peace to you as well." Lucy waited until she heard the line go dead before she flipped her cell phone shut. She slowly placed it back on her desk before she slumped forward, face hidden in her hands as she tried to keep a grip on herself. _'And the crimson cross will deconstruct the light of the Brotherhood, should the Jackal run in the shadow of the Eagle with neither arms nor purpose. And should the crimson cross complete their designs, the war will be decided in an instant'._ It was the verse she had always despised in the prophesy simply because it hinted that the Knights Templar could actually defeat the Assassins. But, with the new news and aware as she was of how badly they wanted Desmond… _And Shaun now as well._

The verse was too ambiguous to plan from, but Lucy knew in her heart that letting either Assassin out of her sight for more time than was required was officially not happening.

* * *

Where an atmosphere of hesitant celebration had resided not that long ago, a sense of foreboding and sadness now hung. Lucy's Assassins were all gathered in the warehouse with a few of Greg's Assassins who had taken to the newcomers to wish the departing team luck and safety.

"Don't do anything stupid," Zack warned as he shook a finger at Desmond.

"Nothing dumber than usual," Desmond replied with a broad grin. He hung off the passenger running board of a sleek SUV, leaned over the windshield enough to see everyone. "We'll be back when we're back!" He scanned the small crowd and sighed when he couldn't find the familiar and definitely eye-catching head of red hair he'd been looking for. _Guess that means our parting words earlier were it._ He remembered that Shaun didn't like good bye at all and had tended, in the past, to ignore him when he had to return to the States.

"Des?"

Desmond ducked into the truck and grinned at Rebecca, who had agreed to drive to the airport. "We all ready to roll… AH!" He stumbled backwards off the running board and almost didn't catch his footing in time; he was stunned enough to miss the strong arms that prevented an ungraceful fall.

"To think you're going out to become a master-class Assassin. Preposterous," Shaun grumbled as he righted Desmond and brushed imaginary dust off of his clothes.

Desmond grinned and turned. "I thought you weren't gonna see me off? You never did when we were kids."

Shaun handed over a small package with a smile. "Don't open it until you're on the road. I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out how to make use of what's in there."

Desmond smiled and nodded. "I swear I'll–"

"Don't," Shaun interjected. "Last time you said that, nothing good came of it."

Desmond saw the hesitation in Shaun's eyes and thought there was something he was trying to say –he was beyond surprised when the older Assassin pulled him close and hid a kiss against his shoulder.

"Just come home, love" Shaun murmured.

Desmond nodded and hugged Shaun tight, pulling him back to offer him a confident smile. "Don't worry about me, Shaun. Take care of yourself and don't overdo it. The Animus is_ not_ normal research work, so I don't want to come back to find you chilling in the veggie isle."

"I wouldn't dream of letting it happen." Shaun patted Desmond on the cheek and pulled away before anyone got suspicious. "Safety and peace, mate."

Desmond saluted Shaun flippantly. "Safety and peace to you as well." He laughed when he was bodily pulled into the truck and went with the motion. When the door closed, he rolled the window down, package safety secured against his lap. "We'll be back before you can miss us!"

"Take care!" Josh called. "Come back with presents!"

Shaun held his smile as the truck turned over in an impressive roar of machinery, aware of Lucy's presence at his back as he watched Rebecca pull out. "Why do I have the feeling that he won't come home, Lucy?"

"Bad memories," Lucy replied and she patted Shaun on the shoulder. "Come on, they'll be fine." She wasn't too sure herself, but Shaun wasn't a man that readily expressed his thoughts to others, so she thought it best to tell him what he wanted to hear.

Shaun turned to look at her with an arched brow, his ears simultaneously perked towards the fading sound of the truck's engine and the odd pitches to Lucy's voice that only he heard. "Well, if we're done lying our asses off, is there anything we have to do?"

"Besides work on Desmond's lead and your memory sequences, no." Lucy tucked her hair behind her ear and crossed her arms as the group started to disband. "Television, maybe?"

Shaun shook his head and turned to follow the group out of the warehouse into the stronghold proper. "I think I want to do a bit more background on Des' theory, if you don't mind. With any luck, it'll maybe point us in the right direction tomorrow morning."

"Then I'll see you in the morning." Lucy sighed when Shaun waved over his shoulder, unaware of how dejected he looked. _I would pay to know how close Desmond and Shaun were for him to be slouching around._ She glanced back at the bay door and shook her head. _And I would pay even more to know what in the hell Abstergo is planning and thinking._


	21. Reconstruction

"So, uh, illustrious leader, what in the hell are we doing?" Rainer asked in an attempt to break the four hour streak of silence that had befallen the team.

Desmond didn't reply, face blank and turned towards the small window, cheek propped up against his fist. He looked bored almost, but there was a particular aire of tension around him that was contagious, putting everyone on edge.

Rainer glanced at Ehren, who shrugged, and he reached his foot out to nudge Desmond's shin. He cringed when Desmond startled and his hands darted up to rip out the ear buds the _Attentäter_ had missed. "What are we doing?" he repeated, before Subject Seventeen could assume there was a threat on a private plane surrounded by allies.

Desmond reached into his pocket to turn his iPod off and took a calming breath. "You scared the shit out of me for that?"

Ehren snickered and gave Desmond a toothy smile. "Not that it's important, but it would be nice to know what in the hell we're getting into before we get there."

"That isn't important at _all_," Rebecca giggled.

Desmond rolled his eyes and glanced around to find the team was suddenly staring at him intently. "No one briefed you guys?" he inquired hesitantly.

"We were told to be ready to leave immediately," Savaş replied. "So no, we were told nothing on the way out the door."

Desmond scoffed, stretched out, and banged his head against the back of his seat. "You all know that we have a fix on the Apple, so that's what we're going to go get. We've been granted entry into the territory by Master Redford, leader of the Trinity area Assassins."

"Trinity, as in the nuclear testing site?" Fang-Yi inquired.

Desmond nodded. "The very same one. We will be using the stronghold in Oscura Peak as our staging grounds–"

"Why not the stronghold in San Antonio?" Rainer interjected.

"Because the Apple is being kept in a bunker right at Ground Zero in Trinity. Oscura Peak is not only safer –given its underground– but it's also ten thousand yards outside of Ground Zero, whereas San Antonio is some twenty or so miles away. It'll be easier for us to get in, get the Apple, and get the hell back to safe territory if we station from Oscura Peak." Desmond crossed his arms and looked back out the window, knowing he would have to be totally up front to keep his team alive. "This is _not_ going to be easy and we're going to face resistance from the moment we enter Redford's territory."

"Dare we ask?" Seiya grumbled under his breath.

"Oscura Peak is my home stronghold," Desmond replied slowly and almost too low to hear. "I ran away when I was sixteen and haven't been back since. I didn't carve a bloody path out the door, but just the fact that I left will leave the Assassins bitter towards me and anyone associated with me, specifically the heads of security." He scowled at the mere thought of the trouble he was facing and shook his head. "We'll be primarily working with Charlie and Lily Miles and they are _not_ going to be happy to see me."

"Siblings or parents?" Savaş asked.

"Siblings," Desmond replied, "I have no idea if my parents are even still alive." He shrugged a shoulder and sighed heavily. "Understand that I _am_ in charge of his operation despite my rank and I'm not going to tolerate anyone stepping out of line and causing more problems. If we want to do this cleanly and survive, we're going to have to work as a team."

Fang-Yi leaned forward, her expression mildly troubled as she asked, "How hard is it going to be to get in?"

"_Hard_," Desmond admitted. "The facility is very well guarded, both by physical and digital security. I can't tell how far down the Apple is actually being held, but if the facility is anything like the stronghold, it's going to be a _very_ long trip down."

Rebecca actually had the audacity to laugh. "I think we knew this wasn't going to be a cakewalk, Des."

"I know, but it's only fair to warn you guys," Desmond replied. "We'll have a better sense of what we're up against once we speak to Master Redford, since he's already sent Assassins into the facility. He'll have schematics, better security rosters, and an idea of where the Apple's being held."

"Any idea of what immediate dangers we're going to be facing?" Rainer looked around when he heard snickers and scoffed. "It's a logical question!"

"Aside from security, we're going to be in an arms-capable bunker full of nuclear arms." Desmond turned back to the window and the sense of tension that surrounded him increased. "It's not insane to think that, if we're caught, they'll blow everything to Kingdom Come."

With those words, any sense of easy-going confidence evaporated and everyone suddenly understood why Desmond had been so moody. No one had realized what sort of danger they were facing and, now that the risks had some verbal life injected into them, it was blatantly apparent that some of them might not return alive.

* * *

Another day and more long hours of tedious work.

Shaun wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest.

He had spent the entire night awake and couldn't deny that it was because he was worried about Desmond. It was his first mission –and an important one to boot– and the stakes were higher than anyone wanted to admit. He'd entertained too many grizzly scenarios and every one ended in the Assassin returning in a body bag. Then, the wanted to admit that he was being a bit selfish too, but there was a logical reason for it. After his psychotic break the day prior, he was actually afraid of entering the Animus with Desmond there. Lucy had already proven that he had no problem putting threats down and he was terrified that, if he did have another break, he'd be dead with Desmond and Rebecca to stop her.

"Shaun?"

Shaun looked up from the research he had complied throughout the night to Lucy. "Yes?"

"You ready or do you want to skip the Animus today?" Lucy asked. She was good about not pointing out Shaun's anxiety, but she was fully aware that the novice was a miserable wreck.

Shaun contemplated the offer to skip the day's sessions, tempting as it was, but he knew that it wouldn't do any good. There was a lot of work to do and he wasn't going to put it off because he was a ball of nerves. "We haven't time to waste, so the sooner I go under, the better."

Lucy seemed pleased with the reply and nodded towards the Animus 2.0. "Did you figure out what we should focus on or should we keep shooting in the dark?"

"We'll focus on the times _after_ the Masyaf siege," Shaun replied. "I reviewed Desmond's sessions and I think that are answers are going to rest in that time frame."

"Then, we'll start when you're…" Lucy watched as Shaun got up and marched over to the Animus 2.0, "…ready."

"No sense in dallying," Shaun stated, his tone more confident then he felt. He set his glasses on Rebecca's desk and tried to ignore the pang of worry that shot through him as he lay back in the machine. "So, let's get to work."

Lucy sighed and moved to Rebecca's computer to initiate the necessary programs at the deployed hacker's station. Her expression was surprisingly somber, her movements efficient as always, but somehow lacking their usual zeal. "Ready?"

"Never will be," Shaun joked and he felt a bit of relief when Lucy smiled wanly at him. He winced when Lucy brandished the needle he had already learned to hate and fell into unconsciousness before he could even think to let it take him away.

* * *

"**Malik! …Malik, open the door!"**

**Tired brown eyes glanced away from the window to the door being pounded on incessantly. He didn't want to get up and didn't have the energy to ward the person on the other side of the door off. Inevitably, his silence would give his unwanted company the impression that he wanted visitors. But, it took too much energy to do more than turn back to the window and he cringed when the door finally creaked open.**

"**Malik, how much longer are you going to stay in here?" the voice was painfully familiar and laced with worry, grief, and anger.**

**Malik shrugged and sighed deeply. When he heard footsteps shuffle closer, he let his head loll against the wall to stare lifelessly at his visitor. **

**He was a younger master Assassin, sturdy and strong, with the sharp structure of the Europeans and the dark skin tone of the Syrians. His eyes, dark brown and streaked with gray-silver, were darkly shadowed by healing bruises and insomnia, black-brown hair matted and telling of his self-neglect. **

"**Malik, that is unnerving. Stop staring." His voice was deep and smooth, his lips marred by a deep cut that had barely scabbed over on the right side.**

**If Malik closed his eyes, he could pretend this man was Altaïr, but it wouldn't do him any good. Altaïr was dead and all the Master had left was his lover's remaining son that was so much like his father, his presence was physically painful. "Leave me in peace, Kiral." His tone was as dead as his eyes, barely a whisper that spoke profoundly of the grief that had consumed him.**

"**I will not leave you in peace because you are falling to pieces!" Kiral snarled, his fists clenched at his sides. "I have given you time, **_**aba**_**, and I have given you your space, but this is ridiculous now! You don't eat, you don't sleep, and you never leave this room! You are destroying yourself!"**

**Malik snorted and turned back to the window. "What else do I have, Kiral? Altaïr and Masaleh are dead and the Templar movement is growing stronger by the day. There is nothing left…" He was startled when he was smacked and his head jerked up to glare at Kiral. "How dare you!"**

"**Finally, some life!" Kiral shot back, his arms crossed over his chest in the same way as Altaïr when he was angry. "I lost just as much as you and you don't see me skulking about like a whipped dog! If father were alive…" He let the threat hang and continued to glare at his adopted father angrily. "He would be furious that you are letting yourself and the Brotherhood rot!"**

"**Isn't that what you're for?" Malik hissed. "If you're so strong, **_**you**_** take over."**

"**I might!"**

"**Then do it and leave me alone!"**

**Kiral took Malik by the shoulders and dug his fingers in. "I won't allow you to die as well!" His angry mask cracked and he looked more like the little boy Malik remembered, less like Altaïr and more like the insecure, frightened young man that he really was. "Do **_**not **_**rob me of what family I have left, please."**

**Malik heard desperation in Kiral's voice and didn't move when the younger Assassin sat down and embraced him tightly. "I can't do this anymore," he whispered. "Kadar, Altaïr, Masaleh… I cannot live with the grief anymore."**

"**So you will leave me to suffer alone?" Kiral demanded.**

**Malik felt a vague pang of surprise when he was forced to look at Kiral and saw the unshed tears in his eyes. "K-Kiral…"**

"**If you must find something to live for, live for me," Kiral murmured. "You are the last of my family, **_**aba**_**, the last person I have to fight for, to die for, to live for. Don't take that away from me…" He looked out the window, at the stunned and quiet city below. "Don't do that to our people. They need a leader now more than ever and Altaïr would never allow us to fall to the Templars without a fight."**

**Malik sighed and rested his head against Kiral's shoulder. "I don't know…"**

"**Father once told me about the Temple. He said that when you lost your arm and your brother, you pushed past death and through infection and fever to take revenge. You could have laid down and died, but you rose up again to punish those that had wronged you." Kiral searched Malik's eyes for some sign of life. "Where did that man go?"**

"**Time destroyed him."**

"**Then bring him back or I'll do it myself."**

"**Kiral…"**

"**No, I won't allow it." And Kiral sounded just like Altaïr again, stubborn and arrogant and **_**right**_**. "You get yourself on your feet again or I'll do it myself and you won't like my methods."**

**Malik knew Kiral was serious, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore…**

**

* * *

**

"Master Redfield?"

Surprise was written across Marcus Redfield's face as he peered around his computer screen. "Tavares, what in the hell are you doing here?"

Tavares smiled and took that as an invitation to enter; he closed the door behind him and stood at attention before the older Assassin's desk. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that I was in the area, but silence was imperative if my team wanted to get out alive."

Marcus nodded and motioned for Tavares to sit. "Is this because of Stillman's Assassins?"

Tavares laughed and held his hands up. "You have me dead to rights, _Maestro._ Lucy asked us to pull away from Abstergo long enough to keep an eye on Desmond and his team, so here we are."

"And how did you manage to get out from under Vidic's thumb?" Marcus was genuinely curious, especially since he hadn't received more than reports from Tavares' team throughout the last five years. "Last I heard, you were trapped between a rock and an insane Templar scientist."

"It wasn't easy," Tavares chuckled. "But Vidic and the rest of his cadre are easily fooled." He laced his fingers over his knee and shrugged. "Whatever the case, we've managed to collect more information on the Trinity facility and a better idea of what Lucy's Assassins are up against."

Marcus sighed and shook his head. "He'll be lucky if he manages to get out of the airport in one piece."

"Charlie and Lily know about his mission?"

"And they are not happy that I let him return."

Tavares held a specific sort of sympathy for Desmond. "I think he'll be able to hold his own. He's a bright man and more than capable of defending himself."

"I can only imagine," Marcus stated. "He was a handful when he was a child; I can only dream of what sort of chaos he's become." He leaned back in his seat and picked up a pen to fiddle with it idly. "But, I'll find out for myself in due time. How have you been?"

"Surprisingly well," Tavares replied. "Life was a little easier before the New York stronghold was attacked, since Lucy informed me that Desmond _finally_ noticed that key Assassins were missing from the group." He sighed and his smile faded a little. "He cannot know that we're here, Marcus. He knows that there are insiders, but he has no idea that Lucy was not the only sleeper put into Abstergo."

"You think he would react violently to your presence?"

"I heard that Desmond and Lucy got into a hell of a fight over the matter, so I'm given to believe that he wouldn't take kindly to my being here."

"Then why, exactly, are you taking such risk?"

"Because Lucy asked me to watch Desmond and I said that I would."

Marcus sighed and dropped the pen. "Then we'll do what we can to keep your movements silent. I can't promise much if you follow the team into the facility, but we can keep you out of sight while you're in the stronghold."

Tavares nodded. "I appreciate that." He reached into his jeans for a pair of flash cards that he placed on Marcus' desk. "Do not tell Desmond where you got that information from. Just tell him that one of your own teams obtained the information." His smile turned bitter. "He doesn't need to know that everything you know about Abstergo came from a supposed traitor."

* * *

**Almost a full year had passed since the Templar's near overthrow of Masyaf and the deaths of Altaïr and his youngest son, Masaleh. The six months preceding the devastating blow had been the most uncertain and the whole Brotherhood was ready to fall into extinction with its last leader missing and their late leader's son vastly unprepared to take charge of such a massive undertaking. But, some sense of hope returned with Malik; his reentry into the living world had been sudden and welcomed and he swore that they would make the Templars pay for what they had done.**

**Malik still had days where he wanted to lay down and die, but they were further apart and some days he was too busy to even remember he had a hole punched through his heart. Pulling Masyaf back together had been a chore that he completed in relatively good time and his natural inclination towards violence and revenge propelled the Assassins into their most brutal series of campaigns to date.**

**The Templars were in retreat and the Assassins were close to totally regaining their numbers. The tides of war had changed and the Assassins applied relentless pressure, driven by their own sense of spite and Malik's unerring rage.**

"**The reports are in."**

**Malik looked up from his newest charting of Templar presence in the area at Kiral. "And?" he prompted.**

"**The movement that was reported a few months ago is back," Kiral replied as he glanced over the report in question. "They helped defend Jerusalem from invasion a week ago and apparently halted an attempt to cut off our supply lines between Acre and Masyaf." He threw the report down and flagged a neatly bound and sealed letter around. "We received this as well, from a man who claimed to be an ally."**

**Malik took the letter and studied the seal embedded in red wax, a cross far too similar to the Templar emblem overlaid by a human skull. "Who received the letter?"**

"**That is the strange thing," Kiral mused. "While in Damascus, I was approached by this man. He **_**knew**_** who I was and who to deliver the message to. He appeared as an ally, but the fact that he knew so much unnerved me. He spoke in familiar tones, friendly almost."**

"**What did he look like?" Malik asked as he broke the seal and unfolded the letter.**

"**I couldn't see his face, but it looked like he had seen some combat," Kiral replied. "The whole left side of his face was scarred and I can assume he was Syrian by his skin color and dialect. He was a slight bit shorter than I and garbed in black… His robes were very similar to my own, but pitch black in color."**

"**A group that just returned reported seeing likewise individuals in Acre and these people were seen again when the Templars made another attempt on Masyaf."**

"**Troubling…" Malik turned his attention to the letter, his brows furrowed.**

_**I trust that this letter finds you in good health, Malik al-Sayf. You do not know who I am and neither will the Assassin whom I entrusted this letter to, but you must know that I am an ally to your Brotherhood and of a similar mindset to your Creed. By now, you must have realized that my brothers have been working with yours from the shadows and we wish to finally enter the light; I personally wish to meet with you and discuss an alliance against our common enemy. If I should hear no reply, I will know that you desire a slow and painful death at the hands of the Knights Templar and I will leave you to that. But, should you wish to avoid such a dishonorable end, send the same Assassin to the southern borders of Masyaf in one week's time.**_

**Malik didn't like the words and phrases that lit up gold and the ones that glowed an angry red, lies and truths mingled together in startling form. "I believe I see what you're saying," he murmured. "This is a letter from who I can assume is the movement's leader. He wishes to ally with us."**

"**What do you think?" Kiral asked, aware of Malik's ability to sense lies and truths in text.**

"**He speaks truth when he says that we do not know him or his company and when he says he wishes to forge an alliance. But, he lies when he says he been operating in the shadows, when he says that he would leave us to death at the Templar's hands if we do not reply." Malik flipped the letter over and ran his fingers over the seal. "Their emblem itself is a threat… a Templar cross and a skull." He looked up at Kiral, his expression troubled. "I sense an overthrow."**

"**Then I'm not the only one?"**

"**No…" Something didn't settle right in Malik's gut, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the new potential threat that had arisen. "When did you receive this?"**

"**Six days ago."**

"**Then he wants a reply today." Malik snatched a clean sheaf of parchment and his quill. "I will write a reply and tell him to meet us here. These people are clearly a combatant sect and we don't need that sort of trouble."**

"**What… Wait a minute!" Kiral was floored by the notion. "You'd invite a threat into our stronghold? You **_**know**_** these people are combatant and even **_**having**_** them here could endanger our position in the Knights Templar!"**

"**I only invite the threat in to eradicate it."**

**

* * *

**

The rest of the flight was quiet and interspersed with idle conversation that died out when the plane hit its final descent and the airport loomed closer. No one hesitated to disembark, unwilling to show weakness of any kind, and everyone fell in behind Desmond as they entered the terminal and were brought to a halt by their incredibly nervous leader.

Desmond cast about for allies and enemies, finding nothing but hiding spots that didn't ease his tension either. "It would be typical of them to leave us to find the stronghold by ourselves."

"They're around somewhere," Rebecca replied.

Desmond rolled his eyes and tucked his hands into his pockets. "You don't know this group like I do, Becca. They would leave us for dead in the desert if the notion struck them hard enough."

"Nice lot you're talking about."

Instinct had Desmond to the back of the team with his switchblade in hand before he could even register the voice. When he felt someone behind him, he grabbed behind him and jerked a woman about his height around, knocking her against the man he had at knife-point. A moment later, he lowered his weapons and his notions of violence when he realized who had snuck up on him. "Intelligent. Sneak up on a bunch of Assassins in a public place, very smart."

Charlie Miles smirked viciously and shoved Desmond back. "Might want to watch that tongue of yours, Des. Never know when you might get lost in the desert."

Desmond held his ground and squared his jaw with a motion for the others to stay put and silent. "Glad to see nothing's changed. You're still an arrogant asshole and Lily's still a backstabbing bitch."

Lily Miles sneered at Desmond and crossed her arms, the scars that marred the left side of her face pulled tight across her skin. "And you're still a sniveling little weasel."

_I can't let them get the better of me,_ Desmond reminded himself. _We have too much work to do and we don't need to be fighting so soon into the mission. _"So, I'm a weasel, you're a bitch, and he's a motherfucker. Glad we settled that. Now, can we please head to the stronghold or do you really want to make a scene here?"

Charlie and Lily glanced at each other, then at the knife Desmond still held, and they seemed to contemplate the validity of their little brother's threat. In their eyes, he was still the stupid, under-trained, rash novice that had run away; logic and status reports indicated that he had grown into a fierce Assassin that wasn't to be underestimated.

"So?" Desmond prompted.

Charlie huffed and broke through the Assassins with Lily on his heels. "Get your bags and we'll head for Oscura Peak. Master Redfield is eager to get your mission underway and get you the hell out of here."

"Then lead the way." Desmond fell in step behind his siblings, the team right behind him.

"Nice family," Rainer grumbled in Desmond's ear. "Were they always like this?"

Desmond shrugged. "As far as I can tell, yes. We didn't exactly have family-minded parents; we were trained as Assassins from birth."

"Then why'd you turn out so nice?" Ehren asked. "I mean… Ah, you know what I mean."

Desmond smiled and it was as sad as it was fond. "If I hadn't been sent overseas to train, I might be just like them." He grinned back at the twins. "Thank God I wasn't a combat genius, huh?"

Rainer and Ehren nodded in agreement and shot nasty glares at Charlie and Lily.

"Just play it cool," Desmond warned the whole group. "As long as we don't present a threat, they won't do more than bark at us."

"Great," Fang-Yi sighed. "The sooner we get this mission over with, the better. I feel like we're walking into a nest of snakes."

Desmond didn't bother to correct Fang-Yi's assumption because anything he said would have been a lie. He was assured that Marcus wouldn't present a problem, so he wasn't concerned about the Master. He was concerned about the rest of the stronghold and whether or not they would be as open-minded as their leader or as hostile as their heads of security.

He wanted to be optimistic, but knowing the whole lot intimately, he held no hope that his group would receive a kind reception.

* * *

"**This is such a bad idea," Kiral snarled under his breath.**

**Malik held his hand out to silence the master Assassin, shooting him a look for good measure. "I have not spent so much time trying to lure this group into the open for you to chase them off with your impetuous delusions." His eyes narrowed when he saw Kiral wind up for a comeback. "Hold your tongue or lose it."**

**Kiral snapped his jaw shut and glared at Malik sullenly.**

"**Too much like your father," Malik grumbled under his breath. In time that had proceeded Altaϊr's death, he had noticed that Kiral had become obsessively protective and he allowed the young man that most of the time. But, after spending so much time luring out the supposed anti-Templar campaign, he couldn't afford to indulge Kiral in his compulsions. "All will be fine."**

"**Should you be wrong, do not think I'll still my blade," Kiral warned as an initiate announced the arrival of the Grandmaster. "No one will take my remaining father, be they potential friend or foe."**

**Malik placed a hand on Kiral's braced arm and nodded his acceptance of those terms. He lowered his hand when the doors creaked open and he straightened his posture, his own doubts soothed by the knowledge that he had Kiral's unwavering blade at his back. He slowly descended the stairs when a black-robed figure stepped into the main hall, flanked by a handful of similarly dressed individuals. **

**The air was tense as the two leaders met at the bottom of the stairs, both intimidating figures wrapped in layers of protocol and threats that were merely understood, not spoken.**

"**Welcome to Masyaf," Malik greeted with a certain edge in his voice. "I am Malik Al-Sayf, Master of Assassins."**

"**You have brought the city back quickly," the man stated in lieu of an introduction.**

**It was a breach of etiquette that chafed at Malik, made him realize that the other leader really was an arrogant, stuck-up man that he doubted he would ever like. But, he had to draw the threat in to eradicate it and he had to do that by staying his own tongue. So, he forced his irritation down with time-tested ease and replied, "Thank you. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."**

"**The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure."**

**Malik's brow furrowed when Kiral nudged him subtly, a sign that the master had noticed something off. He glance down when he felt a tug on his robe and he almost let his scowl slip when he saw the young man's hand was held out, all fingers but his ring finger held out. He knew what it meant in general, but he was lost to the specific connotation. He decided to ignore the signal and nodded back to Kiral with a tight smile. "I would also like to introduce Kiral, my son and successor."**

"**Your son?" the leader inquired with a note of surprise in his voice. "You claimed him as your second-in-command when first we spoke."**

**Malik's senses prickled again, the man's voice wavering in a variety of pitches that spoke of lies and truths all woven together so well, he almost couldn't catch them all. "Nonetheless, he is my son."**

**The man chuckled, his cowl bobbing as he ducked his head. "Is he truly your son or the son of your dead lover, Al-Sayf."**

**Those were fighting words, _dangerous_ words that could get Malik killed, and he did nothing as Kiral took the Grandmaster down and his posted Assassins came out to subdue the leader's own cadre. "I think it is time to exit those shadows you spoke of. Who are you and what do you want with us?"**

**The man threw Kiral off of him like he weighed nothing and stood back up gracefully, but with a hint of weakness in his right leg. "I am the Grandmaster of the Gormogon, a sect similar to your… recently revamped Assassins."**

**Malik's hair stood on end and he released his hidden blade without hesitation. "How do you know about that?" To throw the Templars off his trail, he had completely restructured the Brotherhood, holding the illusion of a noncombatant sect that wished to work _with_ the Knights Templar. It was a cheap, underhanded trick, but infiltration as the Priory of Sion was far easier than head-to-head combat as the Assassins.**

"**I find it interesting that the Assassins disappeared," the Grandmaster stated lightly. "And curious that a new group rose in its place as allies of the Templars. Most curious is the fact that, since this group –this Priory– has risen, we've seen a sharp decrease in the number of Templars in the region."**

**Malik saw Kiral get up and nodded when the man asked for permission to subdue what was now a clear threat to the Brotherhood. "The Crusades are almost over and these tactics, however dishonorable, have gotten us closer to the Templars, their core leaders, and the Treasures we seek than ever before. What do you want with us?"**

"**I said I wanted an alliance… Sloppy form, Kiral." The Grandmaster seized Kiral's arm and flipped the master Assassin clear over his shoulder, an old hidden blade appearing from the depths of the man's robes. "Don't do it again." He turned to the man at his side. "Keep an eye on him."**

**Malik's blood boiled when the underling put a foot against Kiral's chest and a blade to his throat. "You just made the last mistake of your life, Grandmaster." He gave the silent signal for the archers to ready their arrows from the wings. His hidden blade came to rest against the Grandmaster's throat and his sneer was animalistic. "You have no clue of what forces you…"**

**Malik's voice died in his throat when the Grandmaster raised his arms, unconcerned about the open threat to his life, and lowered his hood. "I know what forces I tempt, Malik."**

**Malik stumbled back and the strength left his legs as storm gray eyes studied him on his way down, his breath short as he tried to figure out _why_ this new threat wore the face of his dead lover.**


End file.
